Benstown
by Commander Cody CC-2224
Summary: When Mr. Merriman takes a trip to Charleston, South Carolina, on a business venture, Felicity and her friends are shocked to discover that Ben's past actions in that town have turned him into a local hero of Robin-Hood mythic proportions. c.f. Jaynestown
1. Getting Ready

_**Benstown**_

**Written By:**_** Commander Cody CC-2224**_

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Here we go with another Felicity/Ben fanfic with a semi-adventurous flick. Benjamin Davidson gets to be hailed as a town hero in Charleston, South Carolina. And Felicity seems to be quite thrilled about it…for a moment.

The plot ideas for this fanfic were borrowed from the _Firefly_ series episode _Jaynestown_.

Disclaimer: I do not own Felicity Merriman and Benjamin Davidson, or any of the characters belonging to _Felicity: An American Girl_. The plot ideas for this fanfic were borrowed from the _Firefly_ series episode _Jaynestown_, which was concocted by Ben Edlund. Ideas were also derived directly from the script, too, which can be found in ..

* * *

CHAPTER 1

Getting Ready

Seventeen-year-old Felicity Merriman was in her bedchamber, getting dressed. It was a beautiful spring morning of May, 1782. Today was the day when she and Mr. Merriman were to be taking a trip to Charleston for business reasons, where they were to stay for at least two days due to the long trip involved. Her engaged sweetheart Benjamin Davidson, still apprenticed to Mr. Merriman and had one more year to go before his apprenticeship would be over, would come along, too, to be of valuable assistance to him. Also included in the trip was her best friend, Elizabeth Cole, the same age as she was, as well as her beau, Phillip Michaels, who was at least a year older than she was, and to whom she was now engaged.

Felicity slid on her petticoats, and put on her elegant, flowery creamy, ivory-colored gown, motley decorated with tiny pale pink and blue flowers. Then she hastily slid her feet into her black buckled shoes.

Finally she gently took her favorite silver necklace with a tiny red heart-shaped locket the size of her thumbnail surrounded by a tiny silver outline. The blood-red jewel on the necklace was almost the same color as her hair. The smooth, straight top of the tiny jewel was crowned with an embossed letter L in an elegantly formed Edwardian cursive script. The L stood for Felicity's nickname, Lissie, even though the locket should have had an F; a fact that Felicity brought up during her mild complaint with Ben when he bought it for her from the Pratt's Jewelry Shop as his courtship gift to her on her seventeenth birthday. Plus, it was what Ben could afford. Still she got along fine with the L, and even cherished the thought of how the letter L reflected the sweet affections of her nickname.

Gently she slid it across her neck and clasped the silvered strings together. As she tenderly touched the locket with her right hand thumb and two forefingers, she reminisced on how Ben used to slide the necklace around her neck during the day of her birthday. It was such a dreamy, romantic moment for her.

Her dreamy moment was soon interrupted by a knocking on her bedchamber door.

"Come in," she called.

The door of her bedchamber opened and in entered her fifteen-year-old sister Nan. She wore a plain white apron over her flowery gown. Her mobcap, which perched over her auburn hair, had a bit of white satin lace crowning the edges.

"Gracious, Lissie!" exclaimed Nan. "Your bosom is showing!"

Felicity looked down on her chest. A bit of her fairly large, firm, nicely developed bosom was showing from the sides of the slightly revealing low-cut area of the bodice of her gown, with a tiny bit of her cleavage exposed. While Nan made sure that the bodice area was laced up properly, Felicity made sure that the entirety of her bosom was neatly tucked into the bodice itself.

Felicity sighed in exasperation. Nan almost always knew how to irk her older sister in the matter of little details such as that.

"You always have to vex me on little matters such as that!" complained Felicity.

"Just making sure that my older sister doesn't start attracting the attentions of men like a hussy," said Nan. "You are engaged to Ben. There's no need to attract the attention of another man by the way you display your body."

"One can't always be so prim and proper all the time," complained Felicity in exasperation. "Just you wait until you start wishing for the eligible, handsome, strapping young lads to start courting you."

Nan heaved a sigh. Being fifteen, she was now at the age to begin courting, but no eligible suitor showed up as of yet. Williamsburg was still in its halfway stages of recovering from the ravages of the war during the British takeover, and people were busy repairing damaged houses and devastated livelihoods. So like a prim and proper and sensible young lady she patiently waited for her turn to come.

Suddenly Felicity's youngest sister, Polly, who was eight years old, burst into the bedchamber.

"Good morning, Lissie," she burst out. "Ready for your trip to…Charleston?"

"Just about, replied Felicity, as she straightened her uncovered reddish-auburn hair and pinned it up with a white satin ribbon.

Polly perked her head up and looked at Nan. "What's all this talk I hear about this 'bosom'?" she asked impertinently. Polly could be just as cheeky as her older sister.

"Something your older sister is rather obsessed with," Nan muttered slightly. "'Tis something you have when you eventually get older. Now scoot. You're far too young to know about such things."

"I'm not obsessed!" retorted Felicity.

Nan sighed. "I just can't help feeling a mite jealous of you, Lissie," she said. "You have a nicer bosom than I do."

Polly mischievously came up closer to her older sister and lightly touched Felicity's left breast, with her right hand recoiling fast like a spring. Felicity scowled at her.

"Quit touching my bosom!" she exclaimed.

Nan crossed her arms and gave a rather skeptical face as she watched her older sister straighten up her the low cut area of her bodice and gently pat and massage her breasts firmly with both hands, with her right hand tenderly cupping her right breast, and her left hand tenderly cupping her left breast. Nan couldn't help but feel a little jealous while watching her older sister, as her bosom was a little flat-chested, and not as fully developed as her older sister's was, though it was a little larger as a normal girl's.

"Hmm," said Nan disapprovingly. "Not obsessed indeed."

"Oh, come one, Nan!" said Felicity exasperatingly. "When you eventually become older, about my age, in about three years, give or take, your bosom will more or less develop fully. So don't feel jealous."

Nan rolled her eyes, feeling sort of satisfied and assured. Polly walked near the far left end of Felicity's bedchamber and plucked a few strings of Felicity's guitar, which was perched on a little dresser.

"No, no, no, don't touch that!" cried Felicity. Polly immediately looked at her eldest sister as she took her fingers off the rather delicate strings.

"Aww," she complained. "Why not?"

"You're not old enough."

"You got to have a guitar like that when you were ten," Polly protested.

"Wait two more years," replied Felicity, trying to be sweet on her sister as best as she could.

Polly sighed before she asked another question. "So…when will you and Ben get married?" she asked.

Felicity sighed. "I don't have to tell you many times," she said. "Ben and I won't get married until spring of next year. Besides, we're still courting. How can you possibly think of such things too soon?"  
"'Tis a fascinating topic for her to discuss," remarked Nan, as she attempted to lace up her older sister's stays.

"Now not two tight, Nan," said Felicity. "I don't want to suffocate and die on account of those wretched stays."

Polly found Felicity's final statement to be quite humorous that she giggled quite loudly to herself.

"Not funny!" retorted Felicity. "I don't want such a thing happen to me!"

"It won't," assured Nan, as she fixed up the stays in a manner where Felicity could breathe better. Felicity took a deep, exhilarating breath and exhaled luxuriously.

"Ahhh," crooned Felicity. "That's much better. Thank you, dear sister, for not being so cruel to me as regards to the stays."

Nan gave an affectionate peck on her older sister's left cheek. "You're still my dearest sister," she said to her. "I guess 'twould do no good for you to bear the cost of suffering while being prim and proper." Felicity couldn't help but admire the way Nan looked at her in a motherly fashion, despite the fact that Nan was three years younger than her older sister. "Although a touch of primness and propriety wouldn't hurt," she added.

Felicity widened her eyes in reaction. Suddenly she heard Mrs. Merriman's voice.

"Lissie, Lissie!" Mrs. Merriman called.

"Yes, Mother?" Felicity responded loudly.

"Gracious, Lissie! Your breakfast will get cold if you don't come downstairs to devour it! Your Father will be leaving pretty soon, so you'd best hurry!"

"Coming, Mother," replied Felicity, as she struggled to slip her feet into her black buckled shoes. Felicity rushed out of the bedchamber seconds after Nan added her older sister's mobcap on her head.

* * *

A/N: The name Michaels (or rather, Phillip Michaels) was borrowed from MackenzieW's American Girl fanfiction story titled _The Return of Bananabelle_. I thought the name Elizabeth [Cole] Michaels had a rather nice ring to it, so I decided to make use of the name Michaels.


	2. Final Preparations

_**Benstown**_

**Written By:**_** Commander Cody CC-2224**_

CHAPTER 2

Final Preparations

Felicity rushed downstairs to the parlor room. Mr. Merriman glanced at her eldest daughter with disapproval, not because of the looks, but to the late arrival for breakfast.

William burst into the living area. "Hi, Lissie," he said, grinning roguishly. His face held a tinge of dirt. He had in his hand a mischievously active pet bunny, which was struggling to set itself free. "Look at my pet bunny," he piped up. "Isn't he cute?"

"William, take that rabbit out of the house immediately," ordered Mrs. Merriman rather sternly. She faced her eldest daughter.

"Your breakfast is waiting in the kitchen," she said. "Mind that you don't keep Rose waiting. And mind that you hurry up, because Father will be leaving at around nine."

"What about us?" asked Polly, when she and Nan descended downstairs.

"You and Nan and William aren't going, so breakfast can wait a little bit. Your sister has to eat a little sooner because Father and Ben will be leaving in about an hour and a quarter."

Felicity glanced at the ticking pendulum clock in the parlor. It was 8:15. _Plenty of time to eat before Father and Ben leave_, she thought to herself. But she decided to hurry, anyway because she was hungry.

She dashed into the mildly hot, stuffy kitchen and took her seat at the table. A mildly decorated ceramic plate filled with hominy grits, sausages, and hot, buttermilk-topped biscuits awaited her eager devouring.

"Thank God on high ye'r nearly on time, Miss Merriman" declared Rose in her Southern accent. She was the black household cook and servant of the Merriman household. "Them grits an' sausages an' biscuits are gettin' cold as mornin' dew. If you arrived even lat'r than usual, they'd be stone-cold as ice!"

"Yes, Rose," replied Felicity meekly. But she was too excited about the trip to Charleston to feel too ashamed about her late arrival. Grabbing her silver fork and knife, she took several large bites of her grits and sausages with her fork and even attempted wolfing down the biscuits as well.

"Mercy, Miss Merriman!" exclaimed Rose. "Calm down a bit! You don't want to suffer from bouts of indigestion, do you?"

"No, Rose," said Felicity. Calming herself a bit, she reduced the bite size of her breakfast and devoured the rest of the victuals with relish.

"This is so good," commented Felicity.

""Why, thank you, Miss Merriman," replied Rose. "'Tis nice to hear that my work is greatly appreciated."

"Mother keeps saying you're a good cook," said Felicity, beaming at her.

Rose genially chuckled to herself. "You jest hurry up on your breakfast, Miss Merriman. 'Twould do no good for you to be late on your first long trip out of the country."

Felicity's eyes widened. "Has Ben eaten breakfast?" she asked.

"Aye, he did, Miss Merriman. Fixed up the same meal ye'r eatin' right 'bout now few minutes ago. He's at the store right now, helpin' yer father."

"In that case, I'd better hurry," concurred Felicity briskly. "I don't want to be late and miss out on all the fun!"

* * *

At the General Store, Mr. Merriman, who was nearly passed his middle age, was at the back of the counter writing stuff in his leather-bound ledger when Felicity burst into the store.

"Good morning, Father," greeted Felicity ecstatically.

"Why, good morning, Miss Felicity," Mr. Merriman greeted her daughter back in a jovial manner. "I dare say that for a young lady of fifteen, you look and act as active as you did when you were little. Ready for the trip?"

"I dare say I am," replied Felicity excitedly, beaming at her father. "I had just finished breakfast."

"Good for you," replied Mr. Merriman. "Why don't you stack those linen bolts at the back end of the shelf while we wait for your beloved sweetheart finish getting himself dressed?" he asked, pointing at his right hand index finger at the right side. Felicity knew he was referring to her beloved Ben. Mr. Merriman resumed working on his ledger. "I just had another merchant dropping off some supplies of textiles," he added.

Felicity smiled back as she set to work on arranging the calico and cotton linen bolts at the back right end of the shelf. The bolts themselves weighed quite lightly, so nearly no exertion was needed.

"Rose told me that Ben was at the store today. If he's not here, could he be in the counting room?"

"Aye," replied Mr. Merriman. "He's getting himself dressed in his beloved Continental uniform. He just couldn't seem to part with it. 'Tis part and parcel of his legacy in his participation in the fight for the freedom of the Colonies."

"Oh," replied Felicity, smiling dreamily. She almost loved to see Ben in uniform whenever he wore it on formal occasions, such as balls. The uniform itself reminded her of Ben's willingness to fight for what he believed in.

Nearly half a minute passed before Felicity's best friend Elizabeth Cole arrived to the store, excited as Felicity was. Elizabeth was dressed in her satin light blue gown, with a touch of pink frills at the rim of her skirts, which nearly touched her polished black buckled shoes. Tendrils of her loose, flowing blond hair peeped out of her linen mobcap, and her hair was tied up into a bun by a ribbon the same color of her gown.

"Lissie!" exclaimed Elizabeth.

"Elizabeth!" greeted Felicity.

The two merriest girls in Virginia embraced each other for a brief moment.

"How are you?" asked Felicity.

"I'm quite well, thank you," said Elizabeth gracefully. Her avid blue eyes widened as she took notice of Felicity's bosom.

"Lissie, your bosom is ever so large, I fear it will burst from the walls of your bodice," commented Elizabeth.

"No, it won't," retorted Felicity. "You're making fun of me because you're just jealous."

Elizabeth put her right hand on her chest in a gesture of shock. "Lissie, please don't say that!" she cried. "I'm not jealous, I'm just…observant."

Felicity looked at her friend. "What about yours?" she asked.

Elizabeth bent her head down forward until her eyes caught sight of her chest. Her bosom was a little larger to warrant not being dubbed as flat as a fencepost, but not as larger as Felicity's by a tad. It swelled normally a little bit, but was set nice and firm on her chest.

"'Tis coming along rather nicely," she replied, as she daintily tapped her bosom lightly three times with her right hand.

Felicity sighed. "I'm sorry I took offense at your observations, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth just smiled. "But you know that many girls in this town our age have bosoms nicer than yours," she said.

"Elizabeth, everyone knows mine's the nicest," declared Felicity, grinning an impish grin. Her sparkling, emerald green eyes nearly reflected her playfully gleeful haughtiness. Elizabeth let out a muffled giggle.

Mr. Merriman even chuckled to himself over the way his eldest daughter could act in a rather conceited manner. "That's not something I would normally her my Lissie say," he said. "But Elizabeth may be a little right about the way your bosom swells so firmly."

"Everybody's making such a fuss about my bosom," remarked Felicity.

The door to the counting room burst open and into the store appeared Ben making his way out of the room. "That's because there aren't many buxom beauties who have similar unique beauty assets as you do," he said in reply to the remark Felicity made.

The girls looked at Ben in wide-eyed wonder. He was dressed in his starched and spiffy dark navy blue Continental uniform belonging to Col. Henry Lee's 5th Continental regiment of light horse infantry, a subdivision of the 1st Continental Dragoons under the leadership of Capt. Michael Howell. His buff uniform waistcoat and white breeches were starched, and his semi-gloss black boots were polished. And that included his leather-lined brown-black gloves. Two white belts, which were used for carrying ammunition pouches, crisscrossed and overlap his torso region. A polished brass "cuff" hung on his chest, and two silver epaulettes were on each of the top of the uniform shoulders. His brown hair was formed into a ponytail by a white satin ribbon. A flat black tricorn cap with the cockade of a non-commissioned officer indicating the rank of sergeant crowned his very head.

As if it was not enough, a Brown Bess musket was strapped across his left shoulder, with the belt in front lining up his torso diagonally with the upper edge of the belt on his left shoulder and the bottom end at his right below. Tucked into his belt on his left was a fairly decorated flintlock pistol. A knife with a blade a foot long and an inch wide was sheathed in his left side as well.

Ben looked at Mr. Merriman and the girls in confusion. Their silence baffled him. "What?" he asked.

"You look…grand in that uniform," remarked Elizabeth, beaming.

"I agree," concurred Mr. Merriman, leaning on the counter with his left shoulder as he surveyed him. "Must have taken him nearly all day to get his uniform starched and spiffed and his boots polished."

"He looks glorious," declared Felicity, elated.

Eyes rolling, he went to greet the girls. "How do you do, Miss Merriman," he said, as he bent over to kiss the top of her right hand. He then approached Elizabeth. "And how do you do, Miss Cole," he said, as he kissed her hand as well in the same manner that he did Felicity's.

Mr. Merriman smiled. "Very graceful," he remarked.

"'Tis an improvement," replied Ben. "I watched most of the officers in Howell's regiment do something like that whenever they greeted the ladies courteously. I practiced a little."

"Twas good you did," said Mr. Merriman. "Otherwise the lassies would get pretty repulsed, and you would not have been able to court Lissie in a respectable manner."

Ben's eyes widened and rolled. Mr. Merriman couldn't help chuckling to himself as he surveyed him. "Ben, I must ask you what in heaven's name are you doing with two guns and a butcher's knife?" he asked.

Ben shrugged. "I don't know," he replied, looking at his pistol. "I just…I just like to keep my options open."

"You're saying we might be up against some resistance in Charleston?" asked Mr. Merriman.

"Well," began Ben, as he chuckled to himself as well. "There might be some folk in that town who are still loyal to the king that might not take too kindly with seeing a hotheaded rebel Patriot in their midst."

"Perhaps you should have dressed discreetly," said Mr. Merriman. He sighed. "But if you wish to show off, you're welcome to do so."

Ben nodded, beaming.

"Just as an addition, you might as well have taken a rifle, too."

"Hmm…I didn't bother taking the rifle with me. Too cumbersome and more difficult to reload than the musket."

Felicity smiled. "Where's your sword?" she asked.

"In the counting room. Didn't want to bring it along, too. Too cumbersome when it comes to making maneuvers that involve running."

Mr. Merriman shrugged. "Well, suit yourself. In a few minutes we've got to get going. 'Twill be nearly a five day's journey to Charleston. I'll assist Marcus in preparing the carriage, since Elizabeth will be coming along." He turned to Elizabeth. "You did ask for permission from your mother and father, did you? 'Tis ten days away from Williamsburg, to and back."

"Aye," replied Elizabeth. "We talked about the trip two days ago, and they gave their consent. She told me to make Lissie, Ben, and you promise that you'd take care of me."

"And I take it your engaged is coming along on this trip, too?"

"Precisely," boomed a jovial voice from the entranceway.

Elizabeth immediately turned around. "Phillip!" she exclaimed excitedly.

"What ho, my dearest, lovely Beth," greeted Phillip, as he kissed the top of her right hand. His accent had a British lilt to it. Elizabeth daintily took Phillip's right hand and squeezed it tenderly.

Phillip Michaels was clad in a dark green waistcoat, which draped his mahogany-colored vest with elegant leafy decorations set in green silk. Satin black-brown breeches covered his otherwise shapely legs, and he wore polished black buckled shoes, with a bronze-colored buckles. His dark-brown hair was arranged and formed into a queue, and every strand of his hair was bunched up by a single satin-black ribbon. Crowning the top of his head was a dusted flat-black tricorn cap. He looked very much and acted very much like an English gentleman, which of course he was.

"You look…awfully dashing," commented Ben.

"Why, thank you, Mr. Davidson," replied Phillip. "'And you, sir, are quite a unique specimen of a figure in your uniform."

"Aye," concurred Ben. I just had the entire uniform spiffed and polished. 'Tis part of my legacy in the war when I served as a sergeant in the 5th Regiment."

"I know," replied Phillip. "The last time I met you was about two days ago, after you were recuperating from your battle fatigue."

"Sergeant Davidson," Felicity couldn't help saying dreamily. "Has a rather nice ring to it, don't you agree?"

"Indeed it does," concurred Phillip.

Mr. Merriman watched, wide-eyed for a moment, until he decided to break the silence.

"We're pretty short on time," he said. "So I'll set to work on preparing the carriage." He left the store, with Marcus following behind him. Marcus, the black servant of the Merrimans' was getting near past his prime.

"I'd like to ask you a favor from you, dearest Lissie," said Ben. "You won't mind if I ride Penny, do you?"

"Oh, no," replied Felicity. "I'm sure Penny will recognize you and cooperate with you, just like she does with me. But do be careful, both of you."

"But, Ben," piped up Elizabeth. "Four people can sit in the carriage. Isn't it rather impractical to be taking Penny along when you can actually ride along with us?"

"Hmm…Hiding under the skirts of the merriest girls in Virginia; that's a manful scheme," said Ben rather disdainfully, almost sneering, a teasing manner Then he changed his demeanor to a friendly one. "No. On the contrary, Mr. Merriman could do with a scout…and a soldier. There could be roadway robbers, you know. In addition, in case any of you are injured, I can head to the nearest town on horseback and send for immediate assistance."

Felicity rolled her eyes. "I suppose he could be right," she concurred.

"I would agree," put in Phillip.

Tipping his tricorn cap and beaming at the girls, Ben immediately left the store and headed for the stables.

Elizabeth looked at her friend. "I'm just afraid…that with all those weapons, Ben might get a mite twitchy and hurt someone," she confided to her friend.

"Don't worry, Elizabeth," said Felicity, trying to assure her friend. "He may be hotheaded, but at least he can keep a cool head most of the time."

* * *

A/N: (1) The idea of Elizabeth being affectionately addressed as "Beth" was derived from pansyphoenix's Lissie/Ben fan fiction on The Dark Phoenix.

A/N: (2) The idea of Ben joining Col. Henry Lee's Dragoons (a.k.a. Lee's Legion), rather than as a common soldier, was derived from pansyphoenix's Lissie/Ben fan fiction on The Dark Phoenix. The very idea of it sounded so cool and reasonable, since Ben, as seems to be implied in the Felicity series books (and movie, too), seems to be quite adept with horses. Of course I decided to have it that Ben joined a subdivision of Lee's Legion: The 5th Regiment of Light Foot Infantry (possibly known as the 5th Regiment of Horse), which, according to him, was under command of Dragoon Captain Michael Howell. (This is a fictional Dragoon Regiment under Lee's Legion. Allusions of the 5th Regiment can be found in my Lissie/Ben fanfic titled _The Silent Romantic Moment of Felicity and Ben_.)


	3. Charleston, South Carolina

_**Benstown**_

**Written By:**_** Commander Cody CC-2224**_

CHAPTER 3

Charleston, South Carolina

After the final preparations, and after many hugs and kisses among family members and friends, and making sure that the girls had their broad-brimmed straw hats on with them to maintain their complexions, Mr. Merriman, Ben, Phillip, and the two merriest girls in Virginia made their departure from Williamsburg.

The entire trip took five days as the carriage rolled past forests and cleared lands over smooth roads, rutted stone roads, log roads, and dirt roads. _Thank God for all the greenery_, Felicity thought to herself happily. While in the carriage, Felicity, Elizabeth, and Phillip would trade jokes with each other and talk almost endlessly about one sort of topic to another. Especially interesting were the updates on Elizabeth's older sister Annabelle, who was already married to a fine English gentleman by the name of John Andrews, whom she met five years ago, back when she was eighteen. (She previously suffered a miscarriage when she was twenty years old, but fortunately for the couple another child was coming on the way, and Elizabeth's family members were counting off the days when that child would be born.) Every night the group would stop for lodging at an inn, or somebody else's house, if the occasion warranted.

On occasion, Ben would let Felicity ride Penny with him in the same manner he did, and sometimes Ben reclined in the carriage while Felicity rode Penny at a fast-paced trot with no one else with her the way most people would ride horses, rather than by sidesaddle. This, on occasion, would bring out some criticisms among local passersby about letting a girl ride horses. But it eased Felicity's itching to get a bit of fresh air after being cooped up in the carriage all day. Both Elizabeth and Phillip would chuckle to themselves whenever she saw the two lovebirds ride together on Penny, or when Felicity was the only one riding her while Ben was in the carriage.

* * *

After nearly five days of carriage rides and Penny rides, the group finally arrived at Charleston, South Carolina.

The town itself was bustling and recovering adequately from the ravages of the war, after the British took over the town nearly seven years ago. During that time the town itself was under the governorship of William Hathaway, a sanguine, but rather unsavory nobleman of the aristocratic English gentry acting under the directions of the British high general Lord Charles Cornwallis. Hathaway was often disagreeable with the colonials and often demanded exorbitant taxes from the townsfolk. Later on during the war the town was retaken by the Continental forces a year before its end, and Hathaway immediately fled, leaving the British forces to become prisoner under Washington's army.

The bustling town awed both Felicity and Elizabeth. Especially awing were the shipyards, which the group passed on their way. The tall masts of the ships boggled their minds.

While riding Penny, Ben acted as if the place was strangely familiar with him, which wasn't really that much of a surprise to Mr. Merriman and the girls, given that Ben told them some things of his adventures in Charleston. While sergeant at that time, he and his detachment of the 5th Regiment were stationed in Charleston for at least five months before heading back to Virginia to join forces with Col. Henry Lee's forces, which would eventually play a part in the Siege of Yorktown.

The group was just passing the stately town hall when Ben caught sight of a single woodcut portrait which was six feet tall and two and a half feet wide, and was situated on a stone pedestal block, which had some statue of a state official before, and was nearly as tall as the portrait itself. He immediately galloped Penny on a canter as he approached the area where the portrait was. He recoiled in shock, as the portrait itself had an image of a young man, which spanned from head to foot. In other words the entire body was present. The portrait itself carried a face so strangely familiar that he immediately recognized it.

Mr. Merriman immediately maneuvered the carriage to the place where Ben was.

"What's the matter?" he asked, as he stepped down from the driver's seat. The carriage was parked in a manner where its starboard side was facing the portrait. Felicity, who was seated at the starboard seating area, immediately opened the carriage doors and stepped outside. Elizabeth and Phillip followed suit.

Ben's brown eyes gazed at the woodcut portrait. The image of the young man was depicted as clad in the same Continental uniform that Ben was wearing. A Brown Bess musket, pistol, knife, and sword were also on the young man, in the very same manner that Ben had his weapons strapped on him, save for the sword, which he didn't bother to bring with him. His face very much resembled Ben's face as well. In fact, it was more than just resembled. It was actually, beyond reasonable doubt, his face.

"That's…that's me! That's me in the picture!" exclaimed Ben. He relaxed somewhat and slacked his shoulders. "But…but I wonder…" his voice trailed off.

Mr. Merriman frowned slightly at Ben in a rather skeptical manner. "You?" he asked.

"Aye," replied Ben. "It's clear as day that the one in the portrait is me."

Mr. Merriman stared at the portrait, too. "If that's the case, I'll be damned," concurred in his mystified state of being.

"You, you say?" asked Phillip. "Forgive me for saying this, but I find it rather preposterous for the whole of Charleston to have a portrait of you. 'Tis almost as if you're being hailed as an important state official."

"Or the town hero," put in Felicity dreamily.

Ben shot a look at Felicity that expressed dismay and disapproval. "T-town hero?" he asked. "B-but that's impossible. I was just a sergeant in the 5th Regiment stationed in Charleston for but a brief time. I-I just don't understand how…"

"You're the one in the portrait," said Mr. Merriman. "You tell us how that came to be."

"I-I can't. Really." He lowered his voice into a whisper that was audible only to Mr. Merriman, Phillip and the girls. "All I can tell you, which I most likely told you many times in my war stories after my recuperation at home, is that I was in Charleston four years back, trying to filch good money from the treasury of the town governor."

"You stole?" asked a goggling Phillip. He wasn't informed about these things, due to the fact that Ben had to protect his honor.

"That's what he told us while you were studying at the College," said Elizabeth. "Ben was rather afraid to mention it because it would tarnish his honor. He is an honorable man. Wouldn't you say, Lissie?"

"Aye, I do agree," concurred Felicity. "'Tis not like my Ben would just simply steal stuff without a very legitimate reason."

"Precisely," replied Ben. "Because Phillip is here right, now, this may come as a shock to him. I…well, We, a comrade in the 5th Regiment and I, were tasked with filching the treasury from governor Hathaway and his cronies."

"Who was your comrade?" inquired Phillip.

"I'll discuss later. 'Tis not relevant at the moment," hissed Ben. "Anyway, we ran afoul of the governor's troops, and I had to escape."

"What happened to your comrade, then?" asked Phillip curiously.

"I'm not in the mood to discuss it," replied Ben, irritated.

Mr. Merriman looked at the portrait again skeptically. "Perhaps there was more taking place than what you're willing to discuss," he said.

"Perhaps," agreed Ben. "B-But I haven't got even the faintest notion." His mind was racing how it came to be as well.

Elizabeth's avid blue eyes gazed dreamily at the picture, observing every detail. "I dare say whoever made this portrait did really make quite an effort to capture Ben's essence," she declared.

Felicity gazed at the portrait too in a rather observant manner. "I agree," she said. "Look at his face. 'Tis very much the same as Ben's."

"He looks somewhat battle-hardened," remarked Phillip.

"Tis rather funny, and at the same time, romantic," said Felicity. "I never knew anyone would be this good in making a portrait of my soldier-Ben."

"I'm dying to know who made it," said Elizabeth.

"Probably some anonymous menfolk," replied Phillip. "Most likely they might have pitched in together to work on something as rather grand as this."

"Um, folks, as much as we're astronomically fascinated by what appears to be the portrait of our beloved Benjamin Davidson, we're nearly out of time," said Mr. Merriman. "We've got to find our clientele who's in the southern part of the town. Let's go. We can talk about the portrait later."

The group continued making their heading to the southern direction through the bustling city.

* * *

A/N (1): The name Andrews was borrowed from MackenzieW's American Girl fanfiction story titled _The Return of Bananabelle_. I thought the name Lady Annabelle Andrews had a rather nice ring to it, so I decided to make use of the name Andrews.

A/N (2): I got the idea of the time it takes to travel from Williamsburg, Virginia, to Charleston, South Carolina by carriage from my surveys at Google Maps. They gave an estimate of the distance (by walking, of course) to be approximately 427 miles, and the ETA (Estimated Time of Arrival) to be 5 days and 19 hours. I think that seems pretty reasonable.


	4. Business Dealings

_**Benstown**_

**Written By:**_** Commander Cody CC-2224**_

CHAPTER 4

Business Dealings

Upon reaching the southern part of the town, the group came across a fairly elegant mansion similar to the house Elizabeth's family lived in. It had five tall windows on the top level, and four on the bottom level; two which were situated on each side, with an elegant doorway between them. The front of the house had a smooth, interlocked whitewashed cobblestone roadway that circled around a well-kept patch of green grass. Mr. Merriman parked the carriage in a manner where the starboard side faced the front of the house.

Mr. Merriman stepped off the driver's seat and opened the starboard side door of the carriage. Felicity stepped off, then Elizabeth, and then Phillip. Ben parked Penny near the hitched-up horse on the carriage's starboard side.

The group briskly approached the front of the house and climbed up the not-so-steep steps of the porch area. Mr. Merriman knocked at the door. In a few seconds the door was opened by a pale-faced footman dressed in an elegant pine-green waistcoat. His black buckled shoes were neatly polished, and his head was crowned with a snowy-white bag wig. His face had a rather pompous look to it.

"Do I have the honor of addressing Mr…" he began in his thick British accent.

"Mr. Edward Merriman," Mr. Merriman finished.

"Oh. Mr. Merriman, is it?" replied the footman. "Oh yes. Master Whittaker is expecting you." He extended his right hand and bowed slightly, as if ushering the group to step inside, which they did.

The group stood in the foyer area. "Wait here," said the footman. "I will inform Master Whittaker of your arrival." The footman withdrew immediately.

Felicity couldn't help admiring the elegance of the building's interior. The ceiling was slightly curved inward in a Gothic arch form, with a metallic chandelier hanging in the center of the semi-spherical curve. The nave of the hall extended at a distance less than a quarter of a mile. The floor was made of polished wood pine. Elegantly trimmed wooden mahogany furniture and various oil portraits depicting persons of higher social class graced the hall and the living area.

After nearly a minute a tall, powerfully-built man of doughy excess in his very late fifties entered the scene. He was dressed and a light-brown overcoat and brown breeches, with his black buckled shoes. A snowy-white bag wig crowned his head. Both Felicity and Elizabeth were shocked at how overweight the man could be. Ben only widened his eyes in wonder, and so did Mr. Merriman. Phillip, being kind of used to the ways of the aristocracy, though he was of a slightly lower social class, was pretty nonplussed about the man's appearance.

The man approached the group. "Ah. Mr. Merriman, I take it," he boomed in his excellent British accent. "I was informed by your timely arrival."

"It is," replied Mr. Merriman, regarding the addressing of his name. The two men cordially shook hands. "You are Master Whittaker, I presume?"

"Aye," replied Mr. Whittaker. "Mr. Henry Whittaker, to be exact." He turned his sumptuous gaze to the girls. "And whom do I have the honor of addressing the two lovely ladies with their gentlemanly escorts you've brought along with you?"

"They're engaged, actually," replied Mr. Merriman. "Decided to take a little vacation from the mundane affairs of our hometown."

"I am very much curious as to know who each and everyone of you are," said Mr. Whittaker.

"Well," began Mr. Merriman, as he put both hands Felicity's shoulders. "This…is my eldest daughter Miss Felicity Merriman. The girl on your right is Miss Elizabeth Cole." Both girls bobbed graceful curtsies immediately after their names were cordially mentioned one at a time.

"Delighted," he replied, as he kissed each their right hands.

"And this gentleman you see beside Elizabeth is her fiancé Mr. Phillip Michaels."

"I am honored," replied Mr. Whittaker, as he shook his hand.

"And the young man to my left is my apprentice, as well as my daughter's much-devoted fiancé, Mr. Benjamin Davidson."

"Pleased to meet you," said Mr. Whittaker, as he cordially shook his hand. "You must be quite a gentleman yourself, if I may say, even if you fought on the other side."

"You were a Tory, sir?" asked Ben, trying not to sound too unfriendly.

"By Jove, I was," replied Mr. Whittaker. "But now that the war is over, it very much doesn't matter anymore. Might I inquire as to the rank, as well as the division you were in when you participated in the war?"

"Sergeant," answered Ben. "I was formally a sergeant in the 5th Regiment of Col. Henry Lee's Continental Dragoons. The regiment was under command of Capt. Michael Howell."

"Sergeant, indeed," remarked Mr. Whittaker. "Interesting. Though as a formal officer in the Dragoons I would normally have expected you to be more conscious of your rank."

"Well…" replied Ben in a rather reluctant manner.

"My apprentice has never been known to show much consciousness of his rank," put in Mr. Merriman. "For him that type of thing is disdainful behavior, which Ben was pretty quick to point out was what set him apart from the rest of the members of the Dragoons." He looked at Ben and turned his face back to Mr. Whittaker. "Though on occasion he makes personal requests to some of our friends and acquaintances to address him as 'Sergeant' whenever he's in uniform."

"A prerogative he seems to be quite deserving of, no doubt," said Mr. Whittaker. "Given his open-minded personality. Which, if I might say, was the very reason I wasn't so particularly fond of the British officers I've encountered during the war."

"No doubt," agreed Ben. "Indeed I never took a liking for them myself. Can you imagine the way one of the officers asked me to surrender my favorite sword when three of my guys in the 5th Regiment were captured at Roanoke during a scouting mission? Mind you, he never even bothered to say 'Please'!"

Everyone chuckled at the last statement that Ben made.

"And how long were you held in custody by the British?" inquired Mr. Whittaker.

"Three months. Then three British officers were offered back in exchange for our release. After that my comrades and I were reunited with the rest of the members of the 5th Regiment."

Phillip acutely observed the conversation between Ben and Mr. Whittaker. "Mr. Davidson does seem to have a lot of interesting stories to tell," he confided to Elizabeth.

"That's what comes after you're through being a soldier," said Felicity, beaming. She felt pretty charmed about the whole thing.

Mr. Merriman felt that was time to get down to business. He cleared his throat. "Ahem," he announced quite loudly.

Both Ben and Mr. Whittaker looked at Mr. Merriman.

"Given that we're very much here for business," began Mr. Merriman. "I suggest that we ourselves get down to business."

Mr. Whittaker's eyes widened like a puppy dog's eyes. "Of course, good sir," he replied. "Do follow me, if you will. I have something interesting to show you all, especially you, too, Mr. Merriman, since I anticipate it will enhance your business opportunities." He turned to the hall, with Mr. Merriman and the rest of the group following behind.

Mr. Whittaker led the group upstairs to the second story of his mansion and continued on until he reached an entrance that led to a third story in the building: the attic. Unlocking the entrance doors, he led them upstairs until they reached the attic itself.

The attic was rather untidy, dusty, and full of cobwebs. Dusty pieces of furniture were piled until they reached halfway to the ceiling. The ceiling itself was set at a vertical distance a little taller than seven feet by an addition of five feet. Shafts of sunlight penetrated the medium-sized windowpanes that lined both lengths of the roof itself.

"Now you will see the ultimate loot," said Mr. Whittaker. He pushed aside some pieces of furniture until an astonishing number of wooden boxes were revealed.

"W-What are those?" asked a curious Ben.

"Mr. Merriman's business opportunities," replied Mr. Whittaker. "Seventeen boxes of ivory goods and fifteen boxes of well-polished silverware." Ben, as well as the rest of the group, could notice some of the boxes were distinctly labeled "Silverware" and the rest were distinctly labeled "Ivory." Mr. Whittaker grabbed two of the boxes with different labeling and pried each of them opened with a crude-looking half-rusted crowbar. Ben was aghast, and so were Mr. Merriman, Phillip, and the girls.

"Thirty-two boxes total," calculated Mr. Merriman quietly.

"Silverware and ivory," remarked Ben in wonder. "T-That's…"

"Quite a fortune, right," finished Mr. Whittaker.

"What does this…have to do with business, Mr. Whittaker?" inquired Mr. Merriman.

"Ah. Business," replied Mr. Whittaker, getting back to the business topic. "Well…you see, there seems to be nobody I can trust in this town to deliver these goods to your store, and seeing that you have quite the money to purchase this valuable stock, as I've mentioned explicitly in my letter addressed to you, I thought you might be interested in making a tidy profit out of these goods."

Mr. Merriman glanced at the boxes in a rather quizzical and suspicious manner. "I have to say, 'tis very generous of you to grant me such an opportunity as this, Mr. Whittaker. However, I do have to make an inquiry regarding the method of transportation, hoping that you won't take offense to it."

"Oh, don't worry about me, Mr. Merriman," assured Mr. Whittaker. "I've listened to every open-minded opinion from every merchant I've been doing business with, and some have even more unsavory opinions that go with their rather unsavory behavior."

"Very well," replied Mr. Merriman. "Might I inquire as to why you didn't think of actually shipping the goods from Charleston to Williamsburg by water route? What I mean is, do you happen to own a vessel that can transport these goods along the coast from here to Williamsburg?"

"Mm…I don't particularly trust ships themselves. Yes, I did have a ship…before, but I sold it to a nephew of mine when he knew I was paranoid about them. Ships…tend to leave goods vulnerable to being drowned at the bottom of the see. I would not take such a risk as that unless I were shipping goods from here to London itself."

"But supposing that your merchandise would be vulnerable to roadside robbery?" asked Mr. Merriman.

Mr. Whittaker slapped his hand on Ben's right shoulder. "Then I suppose you have your lusty and trusty apprentice to assist you well in the transportation of my valuable merchandise," replied Mr. Whittaker.

Phillip snickered. "Lusty and trusty," he remarked. "Hmm. That's rather funny, the way 'tis phrased." Elizabeth joined in the muffled laughter, and so did Felicity.

Mr. Whittaker straightened himself up. "The entire cost of these goods adds up to five-hundred pounds, mayhap six-hundred. Actually, six-hundred, to be more exact, given the substantial value of the merchandise. If you have the money with you, you can pay for the merchandise right now, or you can transport the goods yourselves and send the payment later at a certain time. How many days does did your trip last from Williamsburg to Charleston?"

"Five days estimate," answered Mr. Merriman.

"And it will be another five days from this town to Williamsburg itself," remarked Mr. Whittaker quietly. "And five days for payment to be sent by road, possibly less by sea vessel." He took a deep breath before raising his voice back to the normal level of speaking. "A total of ten days for payment to be expected, I'll grant."

"Make it fifteen," said Mr. Merriman. "We might run into a few mishaps along the way."

"Rutted roads, eh?" asked Mr. Whittaker.

"We occasionally ran afoul into a fair number of those roads," said Mr. Merriman. "Inclement weather included."

Mr. Whittaker looked pensive for a moment. "Very well. Fifteen days it is. You are most welcome to the goods, but mind that you bring payment within that time."

"You have my word," assured Mr. Merriman.

"Oh, one other thing," said Mr. Whittaker. "You'll have to transport the goods out of town _surreptitiously_. Townsfolk, Continentals, and the like usually snoop around for any valuables they can get their itching hands on. Even if you were to transport the boxes by cart, it would still attract the attention of these…people." He lowered his voice a little. "If I might make a suggestion, I suggest that you dump the merchandise empty from the wooden boxes into coffin boxes. You'll find them in Marlin's Cemetery Merchandise, which is about four blocks to the south where my house is right now."

"But what if people want to snoop into the coffin boxes as well?" asked Ben.

"They most likely won't," assured Mr. Whittaker. "'Twould be considered most disrespectful to pry open a dead man's coffin."

"But, sir," continued Ben. "Some people may not be all that respectful. They would be willing to throw way respect just to get their hands on a few valuables. I've seen such things like that while I was in Washington's army."

Mr. Whittaker approached Ben. "Perhaps you might be right then," he said. "If that be the case,…Mr. Merriman will have you to fend off any unscrupulous people who dare snoop into the contents of these…coffins. Your soldiering skills will come most handy in this circumstance, Mr. Davidson."

Ben saluted. "Aye, sir," he said seriously.

Mr. Whittaker smiled manfully and faced Mr. Merriman. "Deal then," he declared, slapping his shoulders.

* * *

A/N: In this particular chapter I initially had Mr. Merriman mentioned as entering into a business agreement with Mr. Whittaker on paying six-thousand pounds for valuable merchandise. As I researched later on, I came to the realization that six-thousand pounds is such an exorbitant price (my research mostly came from _CliffsNotes_ on Jane Austen's _Pride and Prejudice_, where they talk about the money part. I think the likely price for the merchandise would have been around six-hundred pounds, which I've only recently featured here.


	5. Means of Transportation

_**Benstown**_

**Written By:**_** Commander Cody CC-2224**_

CHAPTER 5

Means of Transportation

"Where are we going?" asked Felicity, as the group took a stroll in fairly wide alley situated in the slums at the southern end of the town. Mr. Merriman couldn't take the carriage there because of its cumbersomeness.

"Marlin's Cemetery Merchandise," answered Mr. Merriman. "We're going to purchase coffins for transporting our goods."

"That sounds rather funny, if you ask me," remarked Phillip. "And at the same time,…sacrilegious."

"I find it a bit surprising that your father would give no qualms about using coffins to smuggle goods out of town," Ben confided to Felicity.

"That's not true!" retorted Felicity in a whisper. "Father does give qualms about such a thing!" Then suddenly her tone of voice became a mite relaxed. "Well…some qualms, actually. But to imply that Father resorts to unscrupulous means is just…despicable!"

"I-I didn't know," admitted Ben rather sheepishly. "Honestly; what I mean is…" His voice trailed off. "Oh, I don't know, Lissie. You've scolded me well enough. Perhaps 'tis my way of saying that the means of transportation your father will be using right now are…unusual."

"At least that's a better way to describe it," said Felicity, heaving an exasperated sigh.

"Well, not exactly unusual," admitted Ben. "Some people do things like that all the time…though perhaps not often. Or rather, things like that are done all the time; 'tis just that people don't see them being done in plain sight."

Felicity sighed. Ben gazed at the necklace that his sweetheart was wearing. The red jewel-formed surface gleamed in the sunlight.

"You look so pretty with that necklace," said Ben.

"You never cease to compliment me on that," replied Felicity, as she beamed at her beloved Ben. The sparkle in her emerald-green eyes seemed to pierce Ben's gaze.

"I can very well tell that most girls like to be complimented on the prettiness that jewelry augments," remarked Ben.

The group finally arrived to the funeral shop. Mr. Merriman opened the door and ushered in the engaged couples. When the group got in, they found the shop to be rather untidy-looking, with cobwebs covering the nooks and crannies of the clapboard building.

On the left side of the building relative to the entranceway was a seedy, elderly man busying himself with scribbling randomly on parchment on the center of his slightly dusty wooden counter. The man looked to be in the middle of his seventies, though he was fairly active rather than entirely feeble. He was dressed in rather rugged clothes of a common colonial, and the clothes themselves were slightly mildewed, save for his breeches and brown buckled shoes. His soiled light brown tricorn hat stood a little lopsided on the left side of his head.

It was Ben who had the audacity to wake him up. "Hello?" he called.

The man was still busy scribbling, as if he didn't hear him. Ben decided to try again. "Hello?" he called in a much louder voice.

The man recoiled and fright. His glassy black-brown eyes gazed at Ben. Immediately he straightened himself, as well as his hat. "Oh…um…, good day, Mr…" he stuttered.

"Benjamin Davidson," finished Ben. "I'm an apprentice to Mr. Merriman. Is your name Mr. Marlin of Marlin's Cemetery Merchandise?"

"Aye, that be true," replied Mr. Marlin in his English hob accent. "Where be your master Merriman?"

Mr. Merriman stepped forward to the counter. "I'm Mr. Merriman," he said.

"That so?" asked Mr. Marlin. He started ogling at the girls. "Are these your girls? I dare say I have never seen any shred of prettiness in my shop ever since people in mourning have been doing business with me."

"Fiancés, actually," replied Mr. Merriman. "My eldest daughter, Miss Felicity Merriman, is engaged to Mr. Benjamin Davidson, and her best friend, Miss Elizabeth Cole, is engaged to Mr. Phillip Michaels."

"How do you do," greeted Felicity and Elizabeth, smiling sweetly, as they bobbed cordial curtsies.

Mr. Marlin was eyeing on Felicity's bosom. "You know, you've got more breasts than that young 'un near you," he said, as he pointed his right hand finger at her. Felicity immediately bent her head over to catch sight of her bosom, looked back up, and sighed exasperatingly.

Then she changed her demeanor to a rather naughty one. Patting her right hand in the middle of her bosom, she said, "Oh yes. My bosom is quite attractive, indeed. In fact, I'm almost inclined to say that…mine's the nicest."

"Goodness, Lissie!" exclaimed Elizabeth.

Mr. Marlin wagged his right hand index finger at Felicity. "I dare say, Mr. Merriman, your daughter indeed has quite the knack to make herself conceited with her good looks and charms, especially when it concerns a characteristic of feminine beauty, like…the bosom," he said quite bluntly. "'Tis almost as if she's inviting me to…touch it."

Elizabeth widened her eyes in reaction to what Mr. Marlin said and immediately looked at her friend. "You'd best be careful, Lissie," she whispered rather fearfully, at the same time eying Mr. Marlin in a rather cautious manner. "I think he's looking to get fresh on you."

Mr. Merriman approached the man. "There's no need to be uncouth with my daughter, Mr. Marlin," he said firmly.

"I ain't being uncouth, I'm just being…observant about your daughter's prettiness." He ogled Felicity deeply. "But mark my words when I say that her _breasts_ are the _loveliest_ in _Charleston_."

"Oh, mother," groaned Phillip.

"Why are we on the subject of breasts?" asked Elizabeth. "Honestly, let's have some propriety here."

"Propriety is only practiced in the areas of the town were the rich folk live," retorted Mr. Marlin in a rather unfriendly tone of voice. "Here in the slums, 'tis pretty much nonexistent here."

Mr. Merriman looked at her daughter seriously. "Lissie, I would appreciate it if you stopped showing off."

"Yes, father," replied Felicity meekly. "But 'twas just a bit of fun."

Mr. Merriman sighed as he took another step closer to Mr. Marlin. "Whether we are in the slums or not," he said to him seriously, "You will do well to respect my daughter as a gentlewoman, and not as a town hussy."

Mr. Marlin made a face and looked at him in a rather sly manner. "My apologies, Mr. Merriman. 'Tis not often I get to see real beauties like that in the slums of Charleston. No one ever likes to visit a cemetery shop, you know."

"Good. Because the way I see it, we have some serious business to do here."

"If you say so, _Mr.…Merriman_. Does your business concern the burial of cherished loved ones and acquaintances?"

"Actually, no," replied Mr. Merriman. "Though I would very much appreciate it if you didn't mention that."

"Proceed with your request, Merriman," said Mr. Marlin.

Mr. Merriman cleared his throat. "Simply put, we would like five large coffins," he said as tactfully as he could.

"I'll be damned," said Marlin. "Five coffins? What, you've got five people to bury at one time?"

"You could mention that possibility," replied Mr. Merriman in a casual manner. "After all, 'tis good to be prepared in case a loved one dies."

"If that's your attitude then, then you must have loved ones whose deaths are unavoidably imminent," remarked Mr. Marlin tactlessly.

"Well, you can believe that all you want," said Mr. Merriman.

"Fine, then," replied Mr. Marlin. "What'll be your specialty then, as regards to them coffins?"

"Have them as plain boards if you can, since they're the cheapest," requested Mr. Merriman. "If not, any coffins will do, whether they be highly decorated or just plain clapboards."

Mr. Marlin took out his rusted copper metal keys out of his right waistcoat pocket and unlocked the door in the middle of the counter area. "Follow me, if you please," he said in a sly voice.

Mr. Merriman and the rest of the group were ushered into a storage area filled with all sorts of coffin boxes, most of them which were dusted with cobwebs. Mr. Marlin led the group to an area in the storeroom where four very plain-looking coffins were stacked in a fairly neat manner on the right side wall of the room itself.

"I take it these be what you want?" asked Mr. Marlin roguishly.

"They are," replied Mr. Merriman in a curt but cool manner.

"In that case, that'll be five pounds for the lot of 'em, _Mr. Merriman_."

Mr. Merriman nodded. "Very well. I'll send you the payment after we get those coffins on a wagon."

* * *

Mr. Merriman was now driving a rickety cart in the alleyway. The coffins were stacked on the cart itself, with two being on each side, huddled together, and the other situated directly on top of the four. Ben, Felicity, Elizabeth, and Phillip used the coffins as makeshift seats during the rest of the ride out of the slums and back to Mr. Whittaker's mansion. Ben and Felicity were seated on the starboard side, and Elizabeth and Phillip were seated on the port side.

"I just hope no one starts asking questions about the coffins," said Ben wryly.

After a few minutes' ride out of the slums of Charleston, the group finally arrived at Mr. Whittaker's domicile. Though it would have been far more practical for the coffins to be moved somewhere on the downstairs level, Mr. Whittaker wanted them moved upstairs directly to the attic because he wanted them concealed in case some guests or acquaintances came over to stay at his house. Because there were only three men on hand to move the coffin boxes to the attic, Mr. Merriman, Ben, and Phillip had to move them one at a time. Felicity pitched in a little bit regarding the moving of the coffins, since she was particularly sensitive to being teased as a "bit of a girl," especially by Ben. The work was awfully strenuous because the coffins were kind of heavy, even if they were completely empty. After nearly ten to fifteen minutes, the last of the coffin boxes were moved to Mr. Whittaker's attic room.

"We'll keep them here until we're ready to leave town," said Mr. Merriman. "As it is a long journey back to our hometown, we'll be spending the night at a local inn.

"Twould be best you did," concurred Mr. Whittaker. "However, I can offer you lodging in one of the guest rooms upstairs, in exchange for a little money."

Mr. Merriman's eyes widened. "That's…awfully generous of you, Mr. Whittaker," he replied. "Exactly how much are you offering?"

"Ten shillings, at minimum," said Mr. Whittaker.

Mr. Merriman looked at Mr. Whittaker skeptically.

"The local inns offer their lodging at fifteen to twenty shillings, plus additional for their services," informed Mr. Whittaker. "I am offering both at a slightly cheaper price. Besides…I prefer to keep my valued customers comfortable _and_…_intact_." He stressed emphasis on the last two words.

Mr. Merriman thought for a moment. "I think I'm brave enough to accept that offer," he said. "Granted if can keep your word that you won't take advantage of us while we reside at your place."

"Stuff and nonsense!" goggled Mr. Whittaker. "I can assure you on my honorable word that none of these aforementioned…_things_…will happen to all of you while you reside in my tranquil abode," he finished with a grin.

"Then if you will kindly show us to our rooms…" said Mr. Merriman.

"Of course," replied Whittaker in a rather jovial manner. "This way, fellows," he said, as he ushered them out of the attic room."

* * *

Mr. Whittaker led the group across the stately but fairly narrow halls until they came to a vacant room situated at the center of the second level.

When Mr. Whittaker unlocked the room and opened the door, Mr. Merriman and the rest of the group were very much awed as they surveyed the surroundings. The large, stately bedroom had a window, which was situated at the central part of the second level. From the entranceway could be seen a king-sized top-post bed situated on the very right side, a few feet away from the corner, with its back facing to the wall. Under the main bed itself was a small trundle bed. Between the space of the bed was a polished mahogany wood dresser which was two feet long, three feet wide, and four feet high; the length being situated to wall in its very niche. Positioned near the other edge of the window's left side frame was a rocking chair made of elegantly carved polished wood pine. A dark brown leather-lined trunk sat at the very left corner of the room. Near the trunk's left side was an elegantly carved mahogany-colored wooden clothespress.

Mr. Whittaker seemed rather patient enough to survey the surroundings with his client. Ben eyed the surroundings in the behavior of a semi-superior officer.

"Where's my bed?" he asked, trying not to sound too tactless or inconsiderate to the host.

"Your trundle bed, you mean," said Mr. Whittaker in a jovial manner. "Under the bed itself, of course."

With his soldier strength, and situated at the top post bed's right side relative from the front, Ben managed to pull out the trundle bed himself.


	6. The Lad They Call Ben

_**Benstown**_

**Written By:**_** Commander Cody CC-2224**_

CHAPTER 6

The Lad They Call Ben

During the early evening Mr. Merriman and the rest of the group decided to refresh themselves at one of Charleston's local taverns, which was situated at least three blocks away from the public square. The interior of the tavern was fairly rugged and its furnishings were for the most part simple and plain. The tavern was jovially noisy, with a lot of loud, course, gruff laughter emanating across the room with candle-light surroundings, as well as a lot of fife-and-drum music. Aside from menfolk, there were womenfolk, and children present, as well as a fair handful of black freemen and their kin. Each and everyone of them were enjoying themselves. For the girls especially, it was a sentimental sight to behold.

The group was situated at a long, tilt-top table on two legs, at a distance between very left side corner of the tavern and the middle. Mr. Merriman was seated at the tables width which faced the back wall of the tavern. Ben and Felicity were seated on the table's length which faced the very left wall, and Elizabeth and Phillip were seated at the other side of table's length. Both Ben and Phillip were lined together on both sides, and so were Felicity and Elizabeth. In that manner the boys could have their own private conversations, and the girls could have theirs.

But that didn't seem to be the case with those people. The two engaged couples traded conversations back and forth. Most of the topics discussed across the table were of general interest for every member of the group.

"There just…can't be any reason why there's a portrait of me stuck at the town hall," said Ben, his mind racing to know why that was the case. "I mean, I was thieving around here and crossing the town governor. Granted, with General Washington's permission, of course. We were tasked secretly to do it." He took a swig of the apple cider in his pewter mug.

Mr. Merriman slapped his mug of apple cider on the table. "'Tis rather hard to believe that General Washington would authorize something like that. It just seems…out of character for him to do so, given how everyone praises and admires the multiplicity of his civic virtues worthy of being followed."

"Well, he needed money to fund the army, that's for sure," replied Ben. "Many of my comrades in the 5th Regiment often talked about how the Continental army was short on funds, and how payment was rather difficult for the poor chaps to come by. And that was especially true even with the officers and staff members under his command. In fact, I even heard of one officer who left the army simply because his pay wasn't enough to support his family during his long absences away from them. I mean literally, his family would have starved if he didn't bring home the bacon."

"That must be terrible," remarked Elizabeth.

"No doubt," put in Phillip as tactfully as he could.

"Was your pay affected, too?" asked Felicity.

"Indeed it was," replied Ben.

"And that sort of justified you to steal a hefty amount of money from the governor himself?"

"If I were to be doing that on my own accord, with no legitimate excuse to back me up, my honor and reputation would not only be tarnished, but my neck would be at risk," said Ben. "Which was why I was rather hesitant at first to discuss this matter during the several days that occurred after my recuperation at home."

"Sounds pretty reasonable," remarked Phillip. "That kind of talk can pretty much get a man hanged unless he can prove that such a heist was authorized by legitimate authority, such as his government or by his commanding officer."

Ben noticed a ten-year-old boy staring at him as if he was a god. "W-What are you doing here?" he asked the boy, trying not to sound too unfriendly with him.

The boy's blue-green eyes were in wide astonishment.

"U-Unless you want something, you're disturbing our moment," said Ben. "If there's nothing else of value to ask of, please go."

The boy immediately withdrew from the scene. Ben turned back his face to his sweetheart and the rest of the acquaintances.

"Of course the heist proved to be a miserable failure when British dragoons and regulars chased after the carriage that was toting the money," said Ben, in an almost despondent tone of voice. "I don't have any idea where it went now. Perhaps it might have gone to the hands of some random folk around here, possibly to the British forces that arrived to the scene of the crime. I didn't care about the money anymore. All I wanted was to just get the hell out of the town. Because you know what happens when the British capture you as a prisoner-of-war. And mind you, their treatment is not that cordial, given that we were rebels fighting against the Crown."

"Sounds like an interesting story," said Phillip. "Perhaps if you feel up to it you might divulge a little more about this…_heist_ you were involved in."

"When he feels comfortable with doing it," said Felicity. "I would very much hate to see my beloved Ben's reputation tarnished because of this…deed."

In a few seconds a rather shabby-looking tavern girl the same age as Felicity and Elizabeth approached the table.

"You folks would like me to take your bowls?" she asked in an accent that closely resembled a Cockney English girl.

"I'm done," said Felicity. She just had her favorite beef stew. If they were having any meals, they were done as well. After cordial tokens of gratitude from the group, the tavern girl gathered up whatever bowls and plates there were on a pewter tray and scurried off.

As Mr. Merriman, Ben, Phillip, and the girls continued savoring their apple cider, they heard a jaunty, middle-aged man in rustic colonial clothes, shoes, and hat, striking up a tune on his guitar while seated on a fairly long, rectangular table. On his right side were a jaunty Negro freeman with a half-rugged and soiled banjo, which was still in adequate performing condition, and a rather young-looking war veteran his last teenage year playing a fife. On the man's left side were two jovial fiddlers and a drummer boy. While striking up a single tune on his guitar, the troubadour sang out, _"Beeeeeeeeeen, the lad they call Beeeeeeeeeen!"_

The very sound of his name was enough to wake Ben up. He immediately sat up in his bench area like a bolt of lightning, with his brown eyes widened like a deer's. He turned his head around.

The troubadour led in the chorus for what could be heard as a ballad of Benjamin Davidson, sung in the range of chords in the C-Minor and E-Major scale.

_He stole from the rich,_

_And he gave to the poor,_

_And he walked up to the man,_

_And he gave him what-for,_

_Our love for him now,_

_Ain't hard to explain…_

The suddenly the crowd joined in the chorus of the last two lines of the refrain.

_THE HERO OF CHARLESTON,_

_THE LAD THEY CALL BEN…_

Ben was very much flustered by the sound of the verses; more like the verses themselves. The troubadour kept on singing without an incident as the crowd gave way to his lead.

_Now Ben saw the servants' backs breaking;_

_He heard and saw the servants' laments._

_And he saw the governor taking_

_Every shilling and leaving five pence._

_And so he said, "You can't do this to my people!"_

"_You can't just crush them under your heel!"_

_Ben doffed on his hat, and in twelve seconds flat,_

_Stole everything Guv Hathaway had to steal._

The crowd joined in the chorus of the refrain. Elizabeth leaned forward to Felicity. "What's all this?" she asked rather anxiously.

Felicity looked around the room. She took notice of Ben, who, aside from feeling anxious about his name being hailed amongst the crowd, was feeling a fascinated enjoyment. She faced her friend. "'Tis my beloved Ben being hailed as the town hero," she said, grinning impishly.

Elizabeth gasped, both hands on her mouth. "Oh, Lissie!" she exclaimed excitedly. She gracefully placed her hands on the table together. "You are so lucky; I almost envy you!"

"Oh, really, Elizabeth," replied Felicity. "'Tis my sweet, sensible little sister Nan who would do most of the envying."

The girls, as well as Mr. Merriman, Ben, and Phillip, continued to watch the upbeat performance. By that point the troubadour was now starting on his second verse.

_Now here is what separates heroes_

_From common colonials like you and I._

_The lad they call Ben, he turned around his carriage_

_And let that money hit dirt._

_He dropped it onto the streets,_

_He dropped it onto our yards,_

_The lad they call Ben took away our pain_

_And headed off to the woods._

The troubadour was in the midst of singing the entire verse and the crowd erupted again into a chorus when singing the refrain for a second time, when Phillip made a remark.

"It doesn't exactly rhyme," he said.

Suddenly a thought dawned on Ben. "Oh, damn!" he exclaimed in a whisper. "So that's where the money went! A man named Herring and I were secretly tasked with filching money from the governor's town last night!"

"Why?" asked Felicity, dismayed.

"I have never heard of somebody named Herring," put in Elizabeth. "Who is he?"

"John Herring. One of my comrades seven years older than I am involved in the task. I really took a dislike for him; for the way he treated me. He was a brat of an officer in the 5th Regiment, and a bully, too. He never failed to insult my honor and the honor of my sweetheart Lissie, and was even responsible for putting up my death notice just to distress her." During the war, Ben knew of this offensive prank only after he received a letter from Felicity, which was made after he wrote a letter to her. Felicity included a copy of the tavern's death notices in her letter as well. "Of course, the reason why he acted that way was because no girl would ever allow themselves to be courted by him. I was really tempted to inform my superior officer about this, but he often threatened to do terrible things not only to me, but to the rest of my compatriots. So I was pretty much forced to put up with this…_bullying_, much to my agony."

"That's awful," remarked Elizabeth sympathetically. "Especially the very idea of putting up Ben's name in the tavern lists of those who died just to cause you and your family and friends great distress. 'Tis shameful."

"Indeed it is," said Felicity. "If he were here I would really give him a good punch in the face."

"Lissie!" exclaimed Elizabeth disapprovingly.

Felicity ignored her.

"How did he know about me?" inquired Felicity.

"He bullied a man whom I talked about his sweetheart with."

"So what happened next?" asked Elizabeth almost excitedly.

"Well," began Ben. "Herring and I managed to grab all that money. Twenty-five thousand pounds, at best."

Elizabeth gasped. "Twenty-five thousand pounds?" she asked, shocked.

Felicity was just as astonished as her best friend. "That's…that's worth a fortune!" she exclaimed.

"It is," said Mr. Merriman.

Ben continued on. We were transporting this hefty sum of money to General Washington so he could make use of it to fund the army. However we ran into quite a bit of a spot in the poorer part of the town. British dragoons were bearing down on us. They disabled the carriage, and mind you, Herring was inside it. Fortunately I managed to escape and thus, regrettably, abandon the treasure as a result. This meant I left Herring behind."

"That was rather dishonorable of you," said Phillip.

Ben made a face at him. "Wait till you encounter him face to face," warned Ben. "Then you'll understand what I mean. If he was going to treat me abominably, why should have I risked my life to save his skin?"

Felicity shrugged a little. "I would, too, if I were you, Ben," she said understandingly.

Ben nodded at Felicity, as if to express gratitude to his sweetheart for being understanding with him. He took another swig of his cider before he put the mug down on the table and bowed his head in disappointment. "Twenty-five thousand pounds!" he said in a rather upset manner. "And I just dropped it right smack in the middle of a slum area in Charleston! And that was supposed to be for Washington's army!"

Phillip looked at Ben in a sort of understanding way. "Not even twenty-five thousand pounds would have been worth spending possibly several years as a prisoner-of-war," he said. "Only God knows what the British did to the prisoners belonging to their side. 'Tis most appalling."

By the time the conversation was finished the last chord was struck by the troubadour on his guitar. The crowd erupted into screaming whoops and cheers as they gratefully applauded the performance. Both Felicity and Elizabeth were amused by the performance as well, as well as Mr. Merriman and the rest of the boys.

* * *

A/N: Charleston's "Ballad of Benjamin Davidson" is sung to tune of "The Ballad of Jayne Cobb" from the _Firefly_ TV Series episode _Jaynestown_. It's where Ben's version of the Ballad was directly derived from, and the lyrics of the song actually come from the original Ballad. I took the lyrics and revised them a bit to culminate with Benjamin Davidson. The format and words are similar, but Charleston's version of the Ballad is formatted to culminate Ben's heroic deeds in Charleston. (Charleston is a reference to Charleston, South Carolina, not a reference to a person.) I do not own the song in its entirety, or the lyrics themselves.


	7. Ben's Day Celebration

_**Benstown**_

**Written By:**_** Commander Cody CC-2224**_

CHAPTER 7

"Ben's Day" Celebration

"Well, Mr. Merriman," began Ben. "Now that they're off the subject of me, don't you think we should be heading back to Mr. Whittaker's?"

Mr. Merriman exhaled and shot a look at Ben that expressed amusement. "What, you of all people feel pretty uncomfortable with being called "The Hero of Charleston"?

"Look, I'm just not cut out for this hero type of thing," said Ben anxiously.

Mr. Merriman sighed. "I'd say that's a fairly reasonable request. Very well; we're heading back to Mr. Whittaker's."

The group immediately got up from the table and started to head out of the tavern, with Ben being the first to step outside. Suddenly he stopped dead when he saw a large crowd of commonly dressed folk, country bumpkins, and black freemen with a handful of family members. A second later after he stepped out of the tavern entrance the crowd erupted into whoops and cheers of great rejoicing.

"!" they shouted! Then they all started chanting repeatedly his name.

"Ben! Ben! Ben! Ben! Ben! Ben! Ben! Ben! Ben! Ben! Ben! Ben!…"

In the front of the crowd Ben noticed the same ten-year-old boy that kept staring at him. He was now in front of the crowd, smiling mischievously. Ben frowned in a rather disapproving manner.

"Why, you…" he muttered.

He was utterly dismayed and almost frightened. It was not customary for him to be frightened of anything, but this was almost too much for him. Immediately he dashed back into the tavern and headed straight for the bar counter."

"Give me some apple cider," he demanded, hyperventilating involuntarily, as he slapped a five pence on the counter itself. The adrenaline was pumping all over his body. The bald and nearly overweight barman turned his back on him for a few seconds, turned again, and handed him a pewter mug of cider.

A young, rustic black freeman, sixteen years of age, stared in astonishment at Ben with his wide, puppy-dog black eyes, as if he nearly recognized him. But what made him recognize him nearly instantly were the shouts and cheers of the crowd outside. Immediately he divulged out Ben's identity.

"Don't y'all understand?" he blurted out in his rustic Southern accent. "'He's come back! Our hero!" The crowd was still lost. He started shooting looks at the crowd "'Tis Ben! Don't you understand? Benjamin Davidson!"

The barman widened his eyes in silent astonishment. Then all of a sudden, with his right hand, as if unexpectedly, he rudely slapped away the cider mug that Ben was holding in his right hand. The mug flung to the barman's left side, and it impacted and rolled a bit across the smooth surface of the wooden counter. The mug's contents were spilled all over the counter as well.

Ben was utterly dismayed. "What the…" he stuttered, shocked at the barman's audacity to slap away a customer's drink. "Why did you do that?"

"Hero Ben can't and won't be drinking that crap of an apple cider!" he growled. He bent over to the counter's cabinet from behind, stood up, and shot up a vintage bottle of rum in his right hand. "He deserves the best of rum in Charleston's taverns!"

The crowd inside the tavern erupted into joyous whoops and cheers as the barman took out a wineglass and poured the drink. People near Ben shook him playfully, and the barman was almost forcing him to drink the vintage rum. The crowds were too wild and too dominant to let Ben make a choice. He decided to take glass. After all, he didn't want to ruin the moment.

The black freeman raised his mug. "To Ben!" he shouted. Then crowd followed him. "TO BEN!" they shouted.

Now it was the tavern troubadour's turn. Standing on the same bench he was seated on while performing his ballad, he shouted, "Three cheers for Benjamin Davidson!" His voice nearly reverberated the room. "Hip, hip!

"HOORAY!"

"Hip, hip!"

"HOORAY!"

Even louder. "Hip, hip!"

"HOORAY!"

The townsfolk in the tavern started drinking whatever amount of beverages there were in their mugs. Ben took a swig of the rum, and it greatly warmed his body. He slapped the glass down and the barman filled it again with the same drink. Ben lifted the wineglass again in front of the crowd.

"To the townsfolk of Charleston!" he announced in his manly tone of voice. "To menfolk, womenfolk, childrenfolk, and…our beloved black freemen and servants!"

"HEAR, HEAR!" erupted the crowd.

Ben took a swig of the rum from his wineglass. The crowd once again erupted into deafening whoops and cheers. Mr. Merriman, Phillip, and the girls pushed their way back into the crowded tavern.

* * *

During the rowdy revelries, Ben, who was situated near the left side corner of the tavern room, and who happened to be nearly intoxicated after all that rum, was semi-drunkenly conversing with the black freeman that dared to divulge his name among the rest of the townsfolk, who gazed at him as if he himself was a god. Wrapped around his left shoulder in a manly fashion was common tavern girl, who was near Ben's age, who flirtatiously clung to his strapping side. The girl, who was almost intoxicated as well, and nestled at his side, was flirting with him (and he with her).

"So," Ben began in a seemingly half-enthusiastic tone of voice. "The governor. He let you folks keep all that whopping money?"

"He did, sir, much to our unexpected good fortune," replied the freeman. "An it ruined him greatly, you can well be damn sure of that. When he did find out, he sent 'em British regulars an' cavalrymen to take it back from us, but the townsfolk resisted."

Ben chuckled to himself manfully. "Fought the redcoats, huh?" he asked.

The freeman smiled at him. "If all them men an' women an' children an' slaves an' freeman are together on one thing, there's too many of us for them redcoats to put down. So in the end, he pretty much had no choice but to let us keep it."

Ben laughed rather ruefully. "I'll be damned," he said.

"An' that ain't all, sir," continued the freeman. "When we put up that portrait of you at the town square, the guv'nor arrived with his regulars and dragoons and wanted to tear it down, but the whole town rioted."

Ben recoiled. "The whole town?" he asked.

"Well, most of 'em folks," replied the freeman sheepishly.

The very idea of violence in his name touched Ben so deeply, he felt as though he could literally cry. "You folks had a riot?" he asked in an almost drunken, tearful state. "On account of me? My very own riot?"

The freeman nodded, grinning in a manner that could make a warm-hearted person very touched.

"Oh, I-I am indeed very deeply touched," said Ben. "That's…that's just the kindest thing I have ever heard in my entire life…ever since I served in the 5th Regiment of Lee's Legion…"

The freeman slapped his hand across Ben's free right shoulder. "I'm glad you're back," he said in a touching, friendly tone of voice. Ben threw his arm over the freeman, and squeezed both him and the tavern girl in a warm, manly manner.

"How could I stay away?" he said. Unbelievably, despite his rather drunken state, he was rather near tears.

* * *

Unbeknownst to Ben, his sweetheart Felicity was situated at the other end of the tavern room, taking notice of him. She just couldn't believe her eyes. Ben was flirting with the tavern girl, and Felicity herself didn't like it. The very sight was enough to make her furious, igniting a temper as hot as the color of her red hair. More than that, she was beginning to feel quite jealous, and started harboring thoughts that Ben was being unfaithful to her in her courtship with him. She was determined to get her beloved Ben back.

She plucked up her courage as she lifted her petticoats and took large strides through the tavern room, past tables with people sitting or standing that situated near each other in a rather crowded manner.

"Benjamin Davidson, you can't do this to me!" she shouted hotly. But the room was far too noisy for even Felicity to be heard, and her beloved was almost intoxicated with drink to even hear her determined but anguished cry. Even before she could reach at least five to six meters closer to Ben, a stout, determined woman of middle age deliberately knocked her to the floor by extending her legs, thus allowing Felicity to trip over. Poor Felicity fell in a heap.

The ordeal was painfully humiliating for her. Felicity struggled to get up and face the woman in a brazen manner.

"Why, you nasty, little,…!" she cried hotly. "I ought to slap that face of yours this very instant! How could you do something so…despicable, like tripping a gentlewoman?"

The woman looked at Felicity in a rather self-satisfied manner. "You hold your peace, you redheaded witch from hell!" she ordered tetchily. "You're just mighty jealous that some lucky girl has Ben's heart."

Felicity was furious. "That's not true!" she cried hotly. "My Ben has always loved me, and I, him!" However, she came to the realization that she was indeed jealous; there was no denying it. But she was justified to be jealous; after all, Ben was hers, and she still had a courtship with him. She made an effort to stay strong, despite herself. "And you have no right to call me a witch or tease me about the color of my hair!" she scolded the woman, pointing an accusatory finger at her.

The woman only cackled to herself. "Your Ben?" she asked smugly. "Look!" She pointed to the scene, and Felicity witnessed it again, this time, fairly up close. "Huh! 'Tis just as apparent as daylight that Ben has just given his hear to another lucky girl!" She shot a rather spiteful look at Felicity. "You were just as foolish to set your very heart on him."

Felicity hung her head in burning shame and regret, feeling quite dejected. Somewhere was a girl who wanted to be loved. Felicity herself wanted to be loved, but only by the man who knew her very well since she was little, and she just couldn't put up with the competition for Ben's heart. She felt very, very hurt. She was bitter about the whole thing. She was determined to make another direct attempt to take back Ben's heart, and if she didn't succeed, well, she would have a reprimanding talk with him the next time she and Ben were alone. But the woman grabbed on to the back of Felicity's skirt of her gown and petticoats.

"Where do you think you're going, Miss?" asked the woman. "Stop being such a goose; find some other strapping young man to give your heart to. Leave Ben alone with his girl."

The last sentence was enough to make Felicity feel bitter about herself. Despondently she trudged to the other end of the tavern and plopped herself on a chair near a tilt-top table, with her back completely facing a drunken Ben.

Felicity slammed her right fist over the table in a fit of both sadness and rage. "Oh, I _hate_ you, Benjamin Davidson, I really do!" she seethed. "You don't know how much I hate you for doing something like this. Why do you have to do this to me? 'Tis not fair! 'Tis not fair 'Tis not fair!"

Elizabeth appeared behind her friend's left side. "Why, Lissie, pray, tell me, what's wrong?" she asked consolingly.

"'Tis Ben," replied Felicity in a rather exhaustive manner. "He's given his heart to some other lucky girl."

Elizabeth was astonished. "You don't say!" she exclaimed in a whisper. She looked at her friend with an earnest seriousness. "Lissie, that is the most dishonorable accusation you can ever make about your beloved. As your best friend, I beg you, do be careful about what you say."

Feeling a mite tetchy, Felicity just simply plopped her head in a manner that her left side touched the table. "Will you…will you just leave me alone, Elizabeth? Please?" she asked exasperatingly. "I…I just can't take anymore of this."

Elizabeth sadly looked at her friend. She put her arm around Felicity and gave a motherly glance at her. "Your father says 'twill be time to head back to the tavern," she said gently.

"What about Ben?" asked Felicity.

"He says that if that's what he wants to do, he's pretty sure he can take care of himself," replied Elizabeth.

Felicity shot up in her seat in an upright position. "I have no intention of leaving this place until I can get my Ben back," she said determinedly.

Elizabeth pulled her friend's right arm. "You can get him back later, Lissie."

Now this time Felicity was cross. Immediately she rudely let go of Elizabeth's firm hold on her arm. "Fine!" she snapped. "The next time I see him I'll personally give him a scolding!"

"That may not be wise, Lissie," warned Elizabeth. Her blue eyes were troubled.

Felicity ignored her. "I don't bloody well care, Elizabeth," she said crossly. "He should learn to be a little more considerate when it comes to courting a girl like me."


	8. John Herring Gets Wind

_**Benstown**_

**Written By:**_** Commander Cody CC-2224**_

CHAPTER 8

John Herring Gets Wind

John Herring was seated on his rickety chair on his rickety wooden desk, in his candlelit room, feeling broody and looking very pensive. A degenerating tallow candle flickered across the room on the table he was seated near, and it flickered close to his face. His greasy hazel-brown hair, which was half-heartedly formed into a queue by a lightly shredded black satin ribbon, glistened in the candlelight. His clothes were sweaty and musty, and the silver buckles on his dark brown buckled shoes were awfully tarnished. His stockings were a tad shredded, and so were his breaches and undercoat.

Herring, a brawny American colonial of Scottish descent in his early thirties, was a rather unsavory character for a Scotsman. More than once he insulted the honor of Benjamin Davidson and his Patriot sweetheart. Formally in the 5th Regiment, he was secretly tasked, along with Ben, to filch the Governor Hathaway's treasury in Charleston, South Carolina to fund the Continental army. He, along with Ben, was chosen for the task because Charleston was his hometown, and his knowledge of the town itself was crucial if the heist was to be successful. So both men, in spite of their dislike for each other, had to get along for a while if the mission was to succeed. Herring was to sit inside the carriage to stay guard of the treasury box while Ben drove the carriage itself.

Unfortunately the horse-drawn carriage, which toted the money, was chased and disabled by British regulars and dragoons. His comrade, Ben, who after many months swore to get rid of him one way or the other if an opportunity presented itself, When the carriage was disabled, and when the horses were slowing down, Ben immediately detached the belts that hitched up the horses to the carriage itself, thus providing him with a means of escape using the freed-up horses. Herring, on the other hand, was captured by the British forces in the midst of a frenzied crowd trying to get hold of the whopping money and imprisoned in the dismal local Charleston jail.

That was four years back in 1779, while the British still occupied Charleston. He was eventually set free when the Continentals eventually retook the city the following year. Now he was residing in the slum areas of Charleston in the southern end of the town. But he still wanted revenge; revenge for what that dishonorable Benjamin Davidson did to him. And he would get it, one way or the other.

The door of his candlelit room opened and in entered his late middle-aged butler. His head was bald, and he was dressed in his white shift, white breeches, and black boots. Herring's back was toward him. "A little boy has informed me of a wonderful town hero of great significant," said the butler. "In exchange for nine shillings."

"Wonderful, indeed," answered Herring glumly in his typical Scottish accent. "Who the bloody hell is he?"

The butler's eyes widened. "The boy, sir?"

"No, not the boy, you bloody idiot," growled Herring. "The bloody hero!"

The butler tried to look as casual as he could. "Oh. The hero," he answered calmly. "Someone by the name of Benjamin Davidson."

Herring slammed his fists on the table. The butler recoiled a little.

"I take it you knew him once?" he asked.

"More than once," answered Herring. "He was my not-so-desired comrade, and my sworn enemy."

"Well, if you're looking to get rid of him, 'twould be best you did so during the daytime, when almost everyone is dispersed across town," said the butler. "That way, you'll have less resistance. From what the boy told me, the revelries are still going on, with nearly the whole town gathered."

There was a brief moment of silence before the butler resumed speaking.

"If I might suggest, Master. Herring," he began. "'Twould be even better if you left him alone."

This suggestion greatly miffed Herring, who wanted to extract revenge to Ben. Immediately he shot up from his seat, flounced around, and lunged at his butler, pinning his arms at the wall near the entranceway of the room. His butler was mighty scared.

"_Benjamin_…_Davidson_…has cost me a lifetime of sixteen months in the Charleston public jail!" yelled Herring. "Sixteen months! Being taunted, poked, prodded, and starved by the bloody redcoat bastards!" He lowered his voice to a growl. "And I don't take too kindly to such bloody actions." He accented the last three words of his declaration, "_He…will…pay!_"

The butler started trembling. "A-as…as you wish, Master Herring," he stuttered. "But I-I would suggest going about that in…in the daytime. There's more light that way, and that Davidson fellow will have some difficulty hiding from you."

"Finally, a more practical suggestion than the one I've had from the bloody likes of you," said Herring in a smug tone of voice. "You may go."

The butler bowed and left the room, shutting the door behind him. Herring immediately sifted through his trunk until found a blunderbuss and two flintlock pistols, which he did not hesitate to take out.


	9. Accusations and Excuses

_**Benstown**_

**Written By:**_** Commander Cody CC-2224**_

CHAPTER 9

Accusations and Excuses

The local tavern where the revelry of Ben's arrival to Charleston was a little quieter than usual during the cool spring morning. Felicity was at the right end of the tavern room, devouring a porridge meal from a pewter bowl in a rather unusual calm that was slightly out of character for her, given her spunky and sprightly personality. A few feet to her left Elizabeth and Phillip were enjoying a rather hearty breakfast on a tilt-top table similar to the one Felicity was using.

After nearly a few minutes Elizabeth caught sight of her friend. "How are you feeling, Lissie?" she asked in an amiable tone of voice.

"I'm fine," answered Felicity in a not-so-lively sort of way, as she took a spoonful of her porridge. "You and Phillip are enjoying your romantic time together, I hope?"

"We are, Lissie, but what about you? You don't seem very lively today. Where's the spunky, sprightly, Felicity Merriman that we all know?"

"Gone, just like Ben's heart," answered Felicity in a rather glum manner.

Elizabeth immediately stood up. "Lissie, you can't say that!" she exclaimed.

"I can, and I will," said Felicity determinedly.

"But 'tis not like you to be so despondent," said Elizabeth in an understanding way. "You always seemed to be determined whenever you set your heart on one thing; possibly many things…"

Mr. Merriman stepped into the tavern. "Well, well, well, if it isn't the merriest girls in Virginia, possibly in South Carolina…" he said jovially. He stopped in mid-sentence when he saw his eldest daughter in a morose state of being.

"Why, Lissie, do tell me, what's wrong?" he asked.

Elizabeth decided to speak for her, since she knew that her friend was not up to speaking at the moment. Felicity was still slowly spooning up the last remnants of her porridge. "'Tis about Ben, Mr. Merriman," she replied solemnly. "She thinks her Ben gave his heart to another girl."

"That's a shame," remarked Mr. Merriman in a rather un-sincere tone of voice which Elizabeth's sixth sense could perceive.

"You don't seem to be quite serious about it," she said disapprovingly.

"Elizabeth," said Mr. Merriman, "If Ben was unfaithful to my daughter, it could be he is drunk. He's too honorable to things like that."

Suddenly Felicity perked up her head and cast a determined glare at her friend. Elizabeth shrank back. She probably had never seen her so angry in her life. Her face flushed with fury as fiery red as her hair.

"You're right, Elizabeth," she snapped. "I'm now determined to give Ben a good scolding for being unfaithful to me!"

"If you want to do that, now's the time," remarked Phillip.

Both girls turned their heads to the other end of the room. A groggy singing voice was descending from upstairs as irregular footsteps were heard. Someone was coming downstairs.

It was Ben. Aside from his boots and breeches, which were on properly, the rest of his clothes, and especially his buff Continental uniform waistcoat, was ruffled and mussed. His tricorn hat was untidily perched on the top of his head. Felicity had never seen him so unkempt. And adding much to her anger and dismay, the same tavern girl that Ben was flirting with was being wrapped around his left arm. On his right arm was the same vintage rum bottle that the barman gave him last night during the "Ben's Day" revelry.

"Oh, my word," said a dismayed Elizabeth. Felicity shot a rather nasty look at her Ben, as well as the flirty tavern girl, who was too giggly in a flirty manner and half-drunk to even care what her female competitor was doing to her.

Ben was almost oblivious to what was going on, given that he had just awoken from his drunken stupor. In an almost out-of-tune manner he could be heard sashaying downstairs, singing the last four lines of the refrain of the "Ballad of Benjamin Davidson", with some changes of the third person to the first person.

_Our love for me now,_

_Ain't hard to explain,_

_The hero of Charleston_

_The man they call…ME…_

Ben shot Mr. Merriman a rather drowsy and unenthusiastic look before he straightened his head to face forward. "Rum," he grunted. "The living legend of Charleston needs rum." He paused for a moment before another thought hit him. "Or maybe another ale."

"Nope," replied Mr. Merriman flatly. "The living legend of Charleston needs to assist his master with stacking the goods."

Ben looked at Mr. Merriman with a pouted face. "He does?" he asked glumly.

"That's right," replied Mr. Merriman sternly. "We don't want to give Mr. Whittaker a reason to think of us as unreliable enough to warrant his goods being sold to another customer who is able to pay."

Ben just simply gave Mr. Merriman a glum look. Mr. Merriman stamped his right foot in exasperation. It was enough to wake Ben up a little.

"Ben, what in heaven's name are you doing with that tavern girl wrapped around your brawny shoulder?"

Suddenly Ben realized what he was doing. Instinctively he dropped the rum bottle, and it smashed to the wooden floor, spilling the drink all over. He turned his head to the girl.

"You go," he demanded in a low, fairly gruff tone of voice. "Git. I've got very important hero-related things to do."

The tavern girl giggled suggestively like a hyena and flounced back upstairs in a rather unladylike manner.

Mr. Merriman widened his eyes. Suspicion about Ben was at the back of his mind; and at the bottom of his heart he kept hoping that Ben had not flirted with the tavern girl to the point where both he and the girl would lose their dignities completely. If Ben ever did such a misdeed, it would hurt his eldest daughter greatly, leaving her bereft. But as things were currently, he would have to deal with the problem later after Mr. Whittaker's task was done. He made a mental note to have a talk with Ben about the matter in the privacy of his home when he and the rest of the party went back to Williamsburg.

"I'll be seeing you at Mr. Whittakers," he said, as he turned and walked out of the tavern. Only Ben, Felicity, Elizabeth, and Phillip were pretty much left alone, save for the lone barman.

Felicity crossed her arms and cast Ben a furious look that seemed to indicate that she was hurt by what he did to her. The very sight of Felicity's livid face and sparkling green eyes, which glared at Ben, along with her flaming red hair, would have been enough to make the lads fear and admire her. That is, if Ben was completely awake.

"You ought to be downright ashamed of yourself, Benjamin Davidson!" she declared hotly.

Immediately Ben straightened himself up and ruffled his uniform waistcoat. "Why?" he demanded in a rather curt manner.

"Why?" asked Felicity crossly. "For giving your heart to some other lucky girl in this tavern, that's why!"

"Wha-What's wrong with that?" Ben retorted. "I couldn't just refuse her! She was completely dominating me!"

"Yes, you could!" replied Felicity boldly. "You were more than willing to give your heart to me, and mine to you, when there were other girls who were prettier than me around the colonies, when you were in the army! Then, all of a sudden, you start being unfaithful to me during our engagement! Why, Ben? What's got into you?"

Now Ben seemed to be completely awake. He was downright speechless as Felicity shamed him for his actions, the way she did when he tried to run away to join Washington's army when he was sixteen.

Felicity carried a cross and anguished look in her face, as well as a cross and anguished feeling. "It isn't fair, Ben!" she moaned. "For four long years, while you were away playing soldier, I've set my heart on you and ached desperately for your safe return, holding the torch of my burning love for you! And now that you're…_hero_…of this town, you start _flirting_ with other girls!"

Ben, feeling conscious of what was going on, was very much dismayed by such an accusation. He knew very well that such an accusation would greatly hurt his honor.

"On my word, Lissie!" exclaimed Ben in consternation. "How can you say such a thing?"

"Oh, don't play innocent with me, Benjamin Davidson!" she snapped crossly. "The fact that you were doing such things is undeniable! I've seen it with my own eyes, and so has my best friend!"

Ben made a face and sighed. "Lissie, if I ever did such a thing, there could only be one reason for all of this. I was drunk."

That reason had difficulty convincing Felicity of Ben's alleged innocence. "Drunk!" she exclaimed smugly. "Oh, what an excellent excuse to justify your blatant unfaithfulness to me by giving away your heart to some lucky girl!"

Elizabeth gasped at Felicity's saucy demeanor, her right hand on her mouth. "Lissie!" she exclaimed.

Felicity scoffed in exasperation. "Oh, really, Elizabeth!" she snapped.

Elizabeth, despite her anxious self, made an attempt to convince her friend. "He was drunk, that's all," she murmured.

This time, Felicity was dead set against all protestations about her seemingly unfaithful beloved. "Oh! He was drunk!" she declared in a haughty manner. "Well, that _still_ does not give him the _excuse_ to be _unfaithful_ to his _sweetheart_!"

In a fit or rage Felicity harshly pulled off the necklace and threw it to the floor. Feeling too miffed to not want to have Ben around with her anymore, she flounced out of the tavern and headed off to Mr. Whittaker's. Elizabeth gave a sad and solemn look at Ben as she left the tavern with her friend as well.

Now Ben was pretty much unhappy about the whole thing. The only person who was pretty much oblivious to his state of being was Phillip, who was far too engrossed with finishing his breakfast to even talk to Ben. Walking slowly in a dejected manner across the tavern room, he noticed the necklace in an untidy heap, with its strings unclasped. Slowly he bent over and gently picked it up with his right hand, caressing his thumb over the embossed letter L. It seemed that it was up to him to make amends with his beloved Lissie, since she was far too unforgiving to make amends herself.

* * *

In the guest room of Mr. Whittaker's mansion, a greatly upset Felicity was plopped upright on the bed, crying uncontrollably, her entire body racking with heartfelt sobs. Elizabeth was at her friend's left side, making every effort to console her. Felicity tried to wipe away her tears dry her tear-streaked face with a plain white handkerchief that her friend handed to her.

In a few minutes the guest room door opened quietly and in entered Ben. He was a little tidy now, and his personal effects were strapped on him in the same manner that he strapped them yesterday. His face carried a somber look.

Elizabeth looked at him. After giving her friend a final pat on the shoulders, she got up from the bed and approached him in a graceful, ladylike fashion, maintaining her calm composure and disposition. "Perhaps I'll leave you two alone to make amends with each other," she said to him quietly. Ben in agreement gave a rather cursory nod and Elizabeth quietly left the room.

Ben quietly approached the bedside where Felicity was sitting. Gently he slid the necklace around her neck, affectionately clasping it together. The cool, tingling sensation of the necklace comforted her a bit.

Conscious of what was going around her, Felicity made an effort to speak, despite her tearful sobs.

Felicity choked back a sob. "Don't…don't you ever make me forget how mad I am at you, Benjamin Davidson, for making me feel like an awful fool for setting my heart on you," she said.

Ben, with a solemn demeanor, shook his head. "If that is going to be your attitude, little Lissie, then I suggest you leave me alone for a few minutes." He looked at her sadly. "You just cry all your tears," he said finally.

Ben slowly straightened himself and quietly walked to the end of the room where the large window was. He took off his musket, pistol, and knife and placed them gently on the rocking chair near the window itself. Then he stared blankly through the window, arms crossed, and looking very pensive, with his back turned to his weeping beloved.

Felicity choked back another tearful sob as she stared at the glittering locket of her necklace, which she tenderly held with the thumb and forefingers of her right hand. Still sobbing, she looked at him sadly, with tears in her eyes as she gazed at her beloved Ben.

"'Tis not enough to just simply slip my necklace back on my neck, Ben," said Felicity with a tearful sniffle. "If you really want back my love and respect, you'll have to _earn_ it. You'll have to _act_ like it, and really _prove_ it." She sniffled again. "Otherwise, I'll end up thinking that you don't really take me seriously, or even consider me worthy of respect...and I'll just simply move on without you in my life." With her eyes tightly shut while sobbing, she let her hot tears continue streaming down her face.

Ben turned his head to face Felicity. "And how do you propose that I go about that, Lissie?" he asked quietly, still feeling rather upset about the blatant accusations that his beloved made at the local tavern. He turned his head back to the sunlit window.

Felicity tearfully hung her head for a short moment, and then perked it up as she crossed her arms in a rather un-confuted manner. _If he wants my love back, he'll have to act as though he desperately wants it_, she thought almost determinedly to herself as she slowly wiped her tear-streaked face with her handkerchief and blew her nose.

* * *

A/N: A few days ago I received from "pansyphoenix" a review of Chapter 9 of _Benstown_ that indicated that Felicity would not be so quick in forgiving Ben for his flirting stint at the local tavern in Charleston. I did a little editing on Chapter 9, as well as Chapter 10, which has some semblances of connection of the tavern affair. Then I decided to consult "pansyphoenix" on the matter of Ben's seeming unfaithfulness to Lissie during their engagement with each other, and I received a reply on that matter, which I thought I should post in the Author's Notes:

"With a girl, loyalty is everything. With Felicity, she puts her whole heart into everything, she loves unconditionally-which is why she would feel devastated if she thought Ben was betraying her! But she is not a weakling. She would want to be number one in Ben's life, never number two, and she would need to feel that she could trust him to never stray. She would need to feel she was first in his heart. It's a girl-thing. 'If you love me, prove it. Show me I'm the only girl for you, and I will give everything I am to you', which, with Felicity, is a lot! She would want to see him reject other girls' advances, reject other girls, PERIOD. She wants actions of devotion, proof that she has not given away her heart in vain! 'Actions speak louder than words.' kinda thing. Seeing Ben flirt drunkenly with another girl shows by his actions that he does not take her seriously or even considers her as respect-worthy. Stuff like that can devastate a girl in love!"

So, with that in mind, I edited Chapters 9 and 10 in the manner that would be...somewhat believable between the engagement relationship with Lissie and Ben.


	10. Showdown with John Herring

_**Benstown**_

**Written By:_ Commander Cody CC-2224_**

CHAPTER 10

Showdown with John Herring

Phillip Michaels was at the right side corner table devouring the last remnants of his hominy grits. The morning was cool, and he was very much inclined to take it easy, as it was quiet in the tavern, and he was the only one here. He planned to meet up with Elizabeth after he finished breakfast.

Suddenly a man in his late twenties to early thirties barged into the open entranceway and into the tavern room, armed to the teeth with two flintlock pistols, a fairly heavy blunderbuss, and a butcher's knife. His gentleman clothes were rather mussed and rugged-looking, and his black-brown buckled shoes were worn-out-looking. Some ample daylight in the tavern revealed the man's face, and Phillip, who was still bolted to his chair in fright, was wide-eyed by his ghastly looks.

Unbeknownst to Phillip, it was John Herring, Benjamin Davidson's former comrade and nemesis. And he seemed to be in quite a killing mood right now.

"A tipsy of mine told me you was with 'The Lad They Call Ben'," said Herring in his typical Scottish accent.

Phillip eyed Herring in a cautious manner. "I beg your pardon, sir?" he inquired suspiciously.

Being quite a compulsive bully, Herring used his right arm to violently slap Phillip in the head in such a manner that he stumbled out of his chair in his left side chaotically and onto the floor. The table noisily crashed on his side, too.

"Sir?" he yelled vociferously. "Look at me, ye bloody, reeking son of a TORY bitch!" He violently kicked Phillip in the middle of his guts with his right foot. "I've just spent the last sixteen bloody endless months Charleston's local jail, and you're 'sir'-ing me?" After a last kick to Phillip in the guts again, he lifted him by the scruff of his waistcoat and pinned him to the side of the wall.

"Tipsy said you was part of Ben's dedicated compatriots," he continued, as he pulled out his big butcher's knife and flicked it sadistically alongside Phillip's frightened face. Phillip immediately became squeamish and recoiled in fright, hyperventilating frantically.

"Where is that reeking, bloody, damnable, no-good, dishonorable piece of reeking Patriot horse shit hiding himself? Speak, man, or I shall saw off every last one of yer bloody good looks so no woman will ever want to get married to you!"

Phillip struggled to reach for a butter knife lying on the right side of another table next to his left side. Not being that much of a trained fighter, he jagged it into Herring's left head. Rather than penetrating him completely, as the knife blade was curved rather than sharp, it only irritated Herring a great deal. Instinctively, Herring allowed his right arm carrying the butcher's knife to slash Phillip's left arm. Phillip wrenched and screamed in pain with his eyes tightly shut.

"AAUGH!" cried Phillip.

Herring took no heed; no pity. "I'm not done with ye yet, boy!" he growled. "Such impertinence is going to cost you a good-looking eye!"

But before Herring could sadistically take advantage of poor Phillip with his knife, something made him whip his head around the tavern like a scared beast. The faint sounds of chanting could be heard outside the tavern.

"BEN! BEN! BEN! BEN! BEN! BEN! BEN! BEN! BEN! BEN! BEN! BEN!…"

Herring could not believe his ears. Ben, his nemesis, was back! And not far from the tavern! Sheathing back his knife in a cursory manner, he grabbed Phillip with his burly right arm and his blunderbuss in the other, and hobbled out of the tavern.

* * *

The Charleston town square was filled nearly to the brim with a mass of folk convening to the place where the portrait was. Aside from the majority of common colonial folk, there was a handful of distinguished ladies and gentlemen, as well a dearth of black slaves and a fair amount of black freemen and freewomen, and children. The crowd kept chanting his name. The shouts were enough to get a man carried away like a spectator in an arena.

Suddenly the throng kept chanting, "SPEECH! SPEECH! SPEECH! SPEECH! SPEECH! SPEECH! SPEECH! SPEECH! SPEECH! SPEECH! SPEECH!…"

Law enforcement rushed to the scene pronto and formed at the ready. Disciplined Continental infantry regulars lined up in formation, along with a regiment of many horsemen. The entire force was stationed at the far end of the crowd opposite the area of the pedestal, ready to spring into action if something dared to go awry at the gathering. Their uniforms were spiffed, their guns fairly polished, and their bayonets, which gleamed in the near midday sun, were attached at their barrels' ends. The regulars, under the direction of their commanding officer, who was on horseback, shouldered their muskets first, and then positioned them at ready position on both hands, ready to cock and fire at a minute's notice, should the order come. The horses of the light foot infantry restlessly kicked up their heels a bit and neighed, being on the ready, as well as the horsemen themselves.

In the midst of the crowd Mr. Merriman, Felicity, and Elizabeth were situated a stone's throw from the portrait and the pedestal. As it was rather sunny during the morning, both girls each had their hats on. Mr. Merriman eyed his surroundings suspiciously and critically. Elizabeth was getting rather anxious about the well-being of her fiancé. Felicity was too hurt by what her beloved Ben did to her at the local tavern to be getting anxious about him, but at the same time, she was quite curious as to what Ben would do in a situation he was up front right now. For the time being, she seemed to have quite a lot of difficulty in forgiving her beloved for his tavern stint.

Near the front of the portrait, which was facing the front of the throng was Ben. His uniform was fairly tidy now, and his personal effects were strapped on him in their original places. He didn't seem to be in any mood for heroics, that was for sure. Nevertheless, he placed his right foot on a sturdy wooden tea crate set especially for him as a making platform, got himself on top of the crate, and uplifted his arms in a firm but rather bashful manner as an indication that the enthusiastic hubbub was to quiet down.

The crowd was silent, as they awaited for an uplifting speech from their favorite hero. Ben gulped before he uttered a single word.

"I'm…uh…I'm afraid I'm…not that much good with words myself, folks," began Ben in an awkward but humble manner. "Not like my sweetheart Lissie, who can be…quite outgoing at times."

The last statement could have and should have done best to uplift Felicity's spirits, but, as she kept thinking to herself, it wasn't enough to just say that he loved her and wanted her, he had to earn her love and prove himself worthy for her. Forcing a small smile in her pretty face on account of the seeming hilarity that Ben seemed to make in front of the crowd, she watched intently as Ben continued the rest of his much-awkward speech.

"B-But I'd like to thank…you all for being here, during this…beautiful spring day; that's my Lissie's favorite time of the year, if I might add;…and for generously thinking…so much of me. 'Tis not often someone who has served in Washington's army…ever…gets something like this." His eyes suddenly caught up with his beloved Felicity, who forced a somewhat thin-lipped smile at him. In his mind he almost imagined that only his Lissie was there, and that he was doing it for her and only her, and not for the crowd itself. "And 'tis not often that every girl like my beloved Lissie…ever gets to be the devoted Patriot sweetheart of a town hero…who's formally served in the 5th Regiment of Lee's Legion." He stopped to think for a moment. "And that's…well, I guess that's something. So, thank you."

The crowd immediately erupted into jovial cheers and applauds, which seemed to uplift Ben's spirits, knowing that he would truly be appreciated around the town.

In the midst of the throng Felicity and Elizabeth watched Ben in admiration. For the moment Felicity's remembrance of Ben's perceived wrongdoing seemed to die down, little by little, if not right away.

"That didn't seem so bad," Felicity confided to her friend in a rather casual manner as she mildly beamed at Ben.

"Aye, 'tis so," replied Elizabeth, her avid blue eyes gazing at Ben dreamily.

"I'm…I'm quite surprised," admitted Mr. Merriman.

The celebration was pretty short-lived when suddenly a pistol blast exploded in midair. The crowd immediately stopped applauding and timidly parted to make way. Mr. Merriman and the girls stayed on the left side wing of the crowd, relative to facing the portrait and pedestal, and anxiously pushed their way to the front of the line.

As the crowd pushed back, they revealed a frightening menace. It was John Herring, and he had come to the town square to make trouble. His left hand carried his pistol, smoking from the barrel, which he slung away to his left direction. On his right shoulder he was carrying a bruised and injured Phillip by the scruff of his dustily soiled waistcoat. After walking some distance until he came near a stone's throw to where Mr. Merriman and the girls were, he gruffly hurled Phillip to the dirt ground like a heavy sack of oats. Elizabeth, upon seeing the pitiful state of her barely unconscious beloved, nervously gasped in disbelief, both hands on her mouth. Felicity's eyes widened with fright and disgust at the sight of Herring's blatantly unkempt and ill-bred manner. The crowd was too frightened to do anything about him, for he was quite armed to the teeth.

The bruised and injured Phillip struggled to crawl on the ground. When he came near enough to where Mr. Merriman and the girls were, both Felicity and Elizabeth picked him up.

"B-B-Beth?" blurted Phillip.

"Oh, Phillip," said Elizabeth, as she held her beloved in her arms. "How did this happen to you?" She and her friend struggled to keep Phillip upright.

"Y-You look beautiful, Beth," he remarked tiredly, his voice trailing off. He struggled to stand on his own two feet.

Ben could not believe the sight of his former comrade, now his arch nemesis due to a long-ago conflict. He stepped down from the platform. "John…Herring," he muttered audibly in mortified disbelief for the crowd to hear.

Suddenly Felicity seemed to have forgotten everything about being unforgiving to her beloved. Ben's life was at stake, and in her mind there seemed to be no room for harboring thoughts that made her beloved appear in all manner unforgivable. She shuddered at the sight of Herring, and what he was about to do with Ben.

Herring began his seemingly short tirade in his typical Scottish accent as he un-shouldered his blunderbuss. "Well, we-hell, well. Good day to ye, _Benjamin Davidson_," he greeted in an uncouth manner. "I thought I'd make you watch while I butcher me one of yer friends."

"He isn't one of mine," replied Ben in a rather casual manner. Both Felicity and Elizabeth instinctive turned their heads at Ben and frowned anxiously. _How could he?_ they thought to themselves.

Ben could notice the looks of disapproval on the girl's faces, and especially that of Mr. Merriman. He tried to keep a cool head. "Where have you been imprisoned?" he asked his adversary coolly. "I dare say you've got yourself looking mighty hideous today, Mr.…Herring."

Herring laughed a bitter laugh. "So what's all this bloody talk I hear about a so-called "Hero of Charleston"?

Ben took a defiant step and made a struggling effort to steady himself. "I'm no hero, John Herring," he replied. "I was just a light foot infantry in the 5th Regiment of Lee's Legion working in Washington's army for my cause, my cut, and my sweetheart."

Herring laughed another bitter laugh, remembering how he used to insult the honor of Ben's beloved Lissie. "Sweetheart," he uttered acidly, as if the very word itself had left a pungent taste in his mouth. He spat on the ground. Both Mr. Merriman and the girls recoiled in disgust at how ill-mannered and vicious that ill-bred oaf could be.

"Aye, he's right!" continued Herring. "The fact is…we worked together, he and I." Taking notice of Mr. Merriman's step forward, he immediately pointed the blunderbuss at him with his right hand, pulling the cock with his thumb it. His finger was poised at the trigger. The girls shrank back a little, desperately holding on to Mr. Merriman's arms for dear life. While Elizabeth was frightened as a newborn babe, Felicity held a tinge of defiance in her face. "Now why don't you let old John Herring speak his bloody mind?" Herring requested.

Mr. Merriman took a little step cautiously, keenly aware that he was dealing with a cold and deadly son of a bitch far worse than the mean old Jiggy Nye, the former tanner and horse-beater whom his daughter had taken a personal dislike of, due to his brutal treatment of Penny the horse. "Go on, then," he said calmly.

Herring immediately un-cocked the blunderbuss and rested it on his shoulder. "There was a whopping amount of hard money in the Governor Hathaway's treasury, wasn't there, Davidson?" he ranted. "Just think, man, we managed to get away clean. Or so we thought. But then, the bloody carriage ye was driving got caught and disabled by them bloody redcoats. And when them bloody redcoats came wee closer, ye just simply dumped the carriage, the money, and me! Ain't no way he could have dumped the bloody money!"

The same black freeman that Ben had a chat with at the tavern stepped forward bravely. "He did," he declared. "He dropped it for us poor folk so we could be freemen, like 'em rest of 'em folks 'round us."

Herring growled furiously. "By accident, ye bloody, reeking, inbred shit pot of a bloody nigger!" he yelled. "Did ye really think that this bloody Davidson lad was generous of heart to go to the bloody trouble of doing something like that! Nay! He only thinks of his own bloody self! Am I right, Davidson?"

The idea of stealing all that money for himself pierced right through Ben's heart. He felt as though his honor was grievously insulted to the point where his sweetheart would despise him for it. But he wasn't ready to fight to the death in defense of his honor. Not yet. Maybe at the right time, but not yet. So he just simply kept his moth shut and frowned at him.

Herring continued his tirade. "Not only was the money tossed, my whole body was tossed, to, and given to the bloody redcoats to be made a bloody spectacle out of! For nearly a year Davidson and I worked together. He bloody well turned me out before I could bloody well scream!"

"You would have done the same," replied Ben coolly and firmly.

"No, never," said Herring bitterly.

"Yes, you would!" burst out Ben. This time he was on the offensive regarding the battle of words. "Judging by your unremittingly dishonorable character, you would have dumped me to the redcoats and leave me to rot in jail, with them taunting and starving me!"

"Well…that's exactly what happened to me, Davidson!" shouted Herring. "You were dishonorable, Davidson! You're supposed to protect the comrade you're with! Everybody who is so damn well honorable knows that! Everyone…!" He lowered his voice as his eyes stared and glowed maliciously at Ben. "…Except the bloody 'Hero of Charleston'." He then raised his voice. "And for that, I bloody well want his shitty head on a nice, silver platter!"

Ben steadied himself, his eyes defiantly cast upon his arch-nemesis. "'Twas dishonorable for you to post up my death notice and put up my name in the tavern lists just to cause distress to my sweetheart Lissie," he said.

Herring shrugged rudely. "'Twas only a bloody prank, Davidson! Must you really take such a bloody affair so personally?"

"I must," replied Ben. "For such actions not only caused distress to my Lissie, but also to the family members, friends, and acquaintance whom I hold most dear."

"You're really that bloody sentimental, are you, Davidson?" said Herring. "But letting my bloody faults be known to the bloody townsfolk of Charleston ain't gonna save your bloody reputation, much less your body, lad! Everyone knows that what you did during the bloody heist was damn well bloody dishonorable! And you…and your bloody redheaded witch of a 'sweetheart' will carry that bloody stain of dishonor on your reputation, and so will your bloody offspring…that is, if your pretty little strumpet ever gives you any."

Felicity's face began to flush with defiant lividness. She was really itching to punch Herring's face for his blatant insults against her and her beloved Ben. Mr. Merriman, perceiving that trait in her, given her tendency to be defiant whenever someone teased or insulted her and her loved ones, made an effort to steady his headstrong daughter as best he could. Elizabeth also joined in the effort by holding her left arm while at the same time trying to keep her beloved Phillip upright.

Ben took another defiant but cautious step. "You're going to talk me to death, Herring, 'till I grow damn well tired of your incessant rants?" he asked coolly but firmly. "Is that your bloody plan?"

Herring eyed Felicity, who was just as well frightened as her friend beside her. He immediately cocked his blunderbuss and pointed it determinedly at her.

"Nay, Davidson," he replied. "The plan is, I subject you to a lifetime of unremitting agony over the heart-wrenching loss of yer bloody redheaded Patriot brat of a sweetheart." As if it was not enough, Herring insultingly spat directly at Felicity's face. Elizabeth recoiled in shock, her hand at her mouth, while holding her free arm around her friend. Mr. Merriman glared at him for his blatantly abusive action. Ben was dismayed and wholeheartedly angry by Herring's dishonorable and abusive actions as well.

Slowly Felicity dried the spit off her face as her emerald-green eyes glared at him. She was about to protest this abuse against a gentlewoman when Mr. Merriman steadied her. Protectively he took a step forward in front of his daughter, as well as in front of Elizabeth as well. He was calm, but his face was serious.

"You'll have to kill me before you can kill her, or both of them," he said sternly.

Herring shrugged and scoffed. Oh, that'll be bloody well easy, _sir_, since I have two loaded guns. All I have to do is blow yer bloody head off, and then bloody well finish off hers."

"That's three people to kill, Mr. Herring, not to mention my daughter's rather protective fiancé, as well as the regrettably bruised-up fiancé of her best friend" replied Mr. Merriman coolly. "And as you've said, you've got only two loaded guns."

"Well, in that case, _sir_, I can use my other gun against the lass whom the "Hero of Charleston" holds most dear."

Herring instinctively turned around as he pointed the blunderbuss at Felicity. Mr. Merriman surreptitiously curled his right hand into a fist.

Then Herring turned his head to Ben and slowly pointed the loaded blunderbuss at him. Ben had his right hand on the hilt of his knife. "On second thought, I should take pleasure in the grief that will result from poor Davidson's sweetheart if I shoot _him_ first. That way, he'll be unable to throw his bloody knife at me, and thus I can be free to take liberties with her." He shot a gleeful, lustful, malicious, look at Felicity. "'Cause after all, she's only just…a bloody bit of a girl."

The last part of Herring's statement was enough to set Felicity off, as she took a dislike to being called such a term. She was incensed.

"That's not true!" cried Felicity in an angry, defiant outburst.

"Silence from ye, ye bloody witch!" bellowed Herring, as he pointed the blunderbuss at Ben.

Rage shot through Felicity as she instinctively curled her hands into fists. Mr. Merriman steadied her, and she relaxed her hands.

"How can he do this?" cried Felicity in an anguished sort of way.

"He can, and he will, Miss Merriman," replied Phillip rather exhaustively. "Unfortunately. Getting turned in to the enemy by your comrade is not something you take kindly to. 'Tis considered dishonorable."

Felicity shot an unfriendly look at Phillip, despite his condition. "So you're implying that my Ben was dishonorable?" she asked hotly.

"Lissie," whispered Elizabeth firmly. Her blue eyes were troubled and solemn at the same time.

But Phillip answered Felicity, despite himself. "No, Miss Merriman," he replied. "It may be that Mr. Herring's getting turned in to the redcoats might very well have been an accident. If Mr. Herring was at least a likable individual, rather than an ill-bred oaf, as he is regrettably now, Ben would at least have risked his reputation and his life to save him. But you've heard how Mr. Herring treated him when Ben talked about his…heist. Who would want to risk his very life for a comrade you consider a sworn enemy?"

Meanwhile, Herring continued pointing his blunderbuss at Ben. "If you value yer bloody life," he yelled, "'Twould do well for you to disarm yerself completely!"

"Even if I disarm myself," replied Ben, "You would still shoot me. 'Twould make no difference whether I disarmed myself or not."

Herring looked sharp at his adversary's eyes as Ben gazed at his beloved Felicity. "Oh!" said Herring. "'Tis love, ain't it. If the fear of losing yer bloody life ain't gonna give ye much reason to live, then perhaps the fear of yer desperate sweetheart over yer safety will. Ye wouldn't want to make her too unhappy, would you?"

Ben could see that his adversary was playing on his fears. He couldn't bear to see, much less think of Felicity's unhappiness over the idea of throwing his life away for no good reason, so he slowly and cautiously disarmed himself. Slowly he un-shouldered his musket and dropped it on the ground. Then he removed his flintlock pistol strapped to his left side, and threw it next to his musket.

Herring still pointed his blunderbuss at Ben, but in a gesture that seemed to indicate that he wanted his adversary's knife off his body. "And the knife," he demanded coldly.

Ben hesitated for a second. "No bloody way, Herring," he protested. "What's a knife going to do to you, anyway? You're just too damn far away for me to attack you with it; if I try lunging at you I'll be an easy target for your blunderbuss."

Herring cocked his blunderbuss again. "Ye don't drop yer knife, lad, I swear I will shoot to kill you in cold blood."

Ben crossed his arms in a rather self-satisfied manner. "Go ahead," he challenged. "Shoot me, then."

Herring decided that the time to get rid of his adversary once and for all had come. He aimed his blunderbuss at the middle of Ben's torso region.

"Say goodbye to yer dear sweetheart, _Mr. Davidson_," he uttered bitterly.

But before he could kill him, the black freeman who stood up for Ben and challenged Herring stepped in and took the bullet. As Herring fired his blunderbuss, the freeman hurled his way front of Ben seconds before the bullet could hit Ben himself. The bullet impacted flat on the freeman's chest and the freeman dropped to the ground, dead, with his eyes still open.

* * *

Ben was very much dismayed, at first, and then became disgusted and furious by what John Herring did to the poor black freeman, as well as to what the freeman did for him. "No…no…" he murmured frantically. He was horrified at the sight of him; the way the dark red blood, which gleamed in the sunlight while fresh, was still bleeding and trickling from the middle of his heart. Ben could also notice a trickle of blood from his mouth.

Herring, on the other hand, was pitiless over his cold-blooded murder. "Damn! I bloody well missed him!" he yelled, as he was intending the bullet to be for Ben. "Well, he won't get away this time!" He brandished his second pistol with his left hand and transferred it to his right.

Then suddenly rage shot through the entirety of Ben's body. Immediately after he stood up he unsheathed his knife still strapped on his left side and skillfully threw it at Herring. The knife whizzed through the air at deadly high velocity until its razor-sharp blade caught itself in the dead center of Herring's body. Herring staggered a little bit while struggling to stand upright, dropping the spent blunderbuss on the ground near his side. Fresh blood started to drip out from the middle of his body, and he started coughing a bit and struggling to breathe.

His adrenaline rushing across his body, Ben charged at his enemy like a mad bull and a madman bent to a slaughter. Despite his pitiful condition, Herring struggled to pull out his second pistol and managed to aim it almost right and his charging adversary lunged it him madly, forcing Herring to fire off the pistol into the air. Gripping around his adversary, Ben managed to throw Herring in such a manner where he spun and fell flat to the ground. He nearly stumbled seconds after he threw his much-hated enemy to the dust, which flew up in fairly small puffs, but managed to get a firm footing on the dusty ground.

When Herring struggled to get up slowly, Ben grabbed hold of him by the scruff of his dirtied-up waistcoat. They struggled. Herring, despite his waning strength, attempted a downward elbow strike. However, the strike didn't deter Ben because his grip was too strong. Using his left hand to get a firm grip on Herring's right shoulder, Ben used his free right hand to swing a bone-crushing punch against his face. Dragging his nearly unconscious adversary to the left side of the pedestal near the portrait, relative to facing the townhouse, as fast as he could, Ben grabbed Herring on the scruff of his waistcoat again and smashed his head repeatedly against the tone pedestal once, twice, three times. After his fourth attempt, his adversary was dead. Ben's bloodstained knife was still stuck in the middle of his adversary's heart, and blood was dripping out of his adversary's mouth. He found himself hyperventilating in a sort of voluntary manner, not because of elation over his victory, but because of sheer relief over his evasiveness from the predatory jaws of death.

There was no cheering from the formerly enthusiastic crowd; no applauses. Ben didn't expect any; he figured that the truth of his seemingly dishonorable intentions was already known to the townsfolk. Felicity did not and could not cheer for her Ben, now victorious after his duel with his sworn enemy; she was far too stunned in grim fascination in knowing how aggressive Ben could be, in knowing how the poor black freeman gave his life to save her beloved, and finally in the realization of how much nearer her beloved Ben was at death's door during the violent duel. Elizabeth, having never seen this kind of violence up close, was very much traumatized and shaking with fright near the side of her beloved Phillip. Mr. Merriman was nearly stunned at what Ben could do, and so was Phillip.

Ben slowly pulled the bloodstained knife from Herring's bleeding and bloodstained body. He could feel the cool tang of the blood spurts on the handle of his knife. The blood, still fresh, gleamed in the sunlight, almost generating reflections of the sunlit surroundings of the town square. Wiping the blood off the blade of his knife with a fairly clean region of Herring's shift below the waist, he sheathed it back into his left side. He dolefully approached the area where the freeman's body lay, and struggled to pick it up. The solemn spectators watched with shock and reverential awe Ben trudged his way through the pathway between both sides of the throng, toting the freeman's body in his arms. It was a very heartfelt, touching sight.

As Felicity and Elizabeth watched, they felt relieved in the bottom of their hearts that inside Ben's gruff exterior existed some shred of humanity in him. Mr. Merriman felt the same way too, and most likely so did Phillip.

* * *

A/N (1): The idea for the troop deployment of the Continental Army was taken from a scene from Mel Gibson's _The Passion of the Christ_, where Roman infantrymen rushed to the scene promptly and lined themselves up at the entrance of the praetorium, pointing their spears at the frenzy local crowd that gathered to condemn Jesus of Nazareth to death.

A/N (2): The quote "my cause, my cut, and my sweetheart" is quite a catchy phrase for Benjamin Davidson. I was thinking of including the word "freedom" between the words, "cut" and "sweetheart", but since the cause that Ben is fighting for during the American War for Independence involves freedom, or rather, being free from British rule, I thought it was kind of redundant into include that word. For those of you readers who may not have the slightest hint as to what those terms allude to, the term "cause" refer to the cause for freedom, "cut" refers to his monetary pay or recompense, and "sweetheart" refers to his beloved Lissie.


	11. It Just Makes No Sense

_**Benstown**_

**Written By:**_** Commander Cody CC-2224**_

CHAPTER 11

"It Just Makes No Sense…"

The guest room in Mr. Whittaker's stately mansion was quiet as a monastery. Both Felicity and Elizabeth were gently tending Phillip's bruises while he lay upright and resting with his eyes closed on the left side of the bed. To him it felt pleasurable to experience the sensation of a woman's tender touch. While Elizabeth gently spread clean white pieces of cloths across the bruised areas of Phillip's face and possibly his body, Felicity mixed certain herbs that would soothe the bruises.

Meanwhile, Ben was seated in the middle side of his trundle bed, near a little to the edge of the right side. On the right side of the bed lay his personal effects. His gaze was fixated on the knife he was holding in his right hand, with his left hand smoothing over the blade. The knife had just been completely cleaned of the blood.

Mr. Merriman quietly stepped into the room and sat down beside Ben's right side. Ben, completely oblivious to what was going on his surroundings, still kept staring at the knife.

"It…It just makes no sense…" Ben murmured.

"What doesn't?" asked Mr. Merriman quietly.

"The entire affair…the duel. Why did that poor black boy have to jump in front of that blunderbuss blast?"

"Perhaps he admired you so much that he was more than willing to take a bullet for you," answered Mr. Merriman as sympathetically as he could.

"Aye, that's so," said Ben. "I owe him my life…then…". His voice trailed off.

"The townsfolk of Charleston already know of what are perceived to be my dishonorable actions against John Herring during that particular heist against Governor Hathaway four years ago," Ben continued. "Hell…I'm sure even that black freeman knew, too…but…why did he?"

"He probably did knew, and probably refused to accept such accusations," replied Mr. Merriman. "I hope you do not perceive me as snooty when I say this honestly, Ben, but when common folk…mayhap like you and me…know that a hero makes a change in their lives that is favorable in a memorable way, they can be dead set against anything or anyone that dares to bring up accusations that can be immediately perceived by such folk as slanderous to their hero's character."

"Well, that gives me some consolation," remarked Ben wryly. He shook his head as he gazed at the gleaming knife. "…I don't…know why this entire affair eats at me like this…It just…makes no sense…"

Mr. Merriman put his arm around Ben in a fatherly manner. "I don't think 'tis about you, Ben. 'Tis about what they need. And probably what they need in the sustenance of their lives, apart from the basic necessities, is someone who can inspire people to do the right thing."

"The right thing…" murmured Ben with a wry chuckle. "Like stealing from the rich to give to the poor?"

Mr. Merriman heaved a sigh. "For those poor, destitute folk, such as the indentured servants, the slaves, the impoverished freemen, and the like, I'd have to say yes."

"The right thing, indeed…" Ben murmured wryly again. "That kind of reminds me of my Lissie…"

That kind of statement was almost enough to attract Felicity's attention. Despite Ben's back facing her, she chuckled quietly to herself and smiled tenderly.

There was a brief silence before Mr. Merriman resumed the conversation once more.

"Just out of curiosity, Ben, how come you decided to charge at your adversary headlong like a made bull rather than use either your Brown Bess or your flintlock to finish him off quickly? Was there some sort of sentimentality going on between you and your adversary?"

"There was," replied Ben. "From my point of view I thought the affair should be dealt with in a more…personal manner. Besides, I was consumed with rage at the time the poor black freeman got killed by Herring's bullet while making a heartfelt attempt to save my life from what would have been for me certain death."

"Hmm…" thought Mr. Merriman. After a few seconds of pondering he got up from the trundle bed.

"Come downstairs in a few minutes so that you can start assisting me with preparing the carriage," he said to him quietly and firmly in a fatherly manner. "We'll be leaving around three in the afternoon." He left the room, leaving Ben to ponder things over about the affair.

After gently placing a wet cloth on Phillip's head, Felicity quietly approached the area of the trundle bed where Ben was seated. She gently took the knife from him and placed it on the right side of the bed, along with the rest of his personal effects. Then she took her seat beside Ben's right side, which seemed to have more space. She tenderly placed her right hand on the left side of his face, and turned his face to her until his face met hers, looked at him deeply in the eye, and smiled affectionately. All thoughts aside about his alleged unfaithfulness to her, she was happy now that her beloved Ben was alive, and forgiving of her regarding her rash accusations.

"Whether you are the town hero or not, I still love you, Benjamin Davidson," she said in a tender whisper.

Felicity placed her other hand on the other side of Ben's face. In turn Ben placed both hands on his beloved Lissie's ruddy cheeks. Their faces slowly came closer, and they kissed passionately as never before, open-mouthed, holding their mouths to each other as fast and firmly as they could, never having the intention of letting that sensational moment pass on their watch. They kissed as though they wanted that moment to last forever.

* * *

Elizabeth gazed intently with awe at Felicity and Ben's affectionate, heartfelt lovemaking scene. It was so touchingly and tenderly romantic that she felt inclined to do the same to her beloved Phillip. She bent over and affectionately kissed him in the lips; first, gently, then a little firmly until both lovebirds were carried away with each other.

It seemed now that the quiet room was filled with quiet, heartfelt romance.

**THE END**

* * *

Well, I hope you more or less enjoyed this Lissie/Ben fanfic. Almost everything that you read in here, such as the plot, and the dialogue, pretty much all allude to the _Firefly_ TV Series episode _Jaynestown_.

For all you Lissie/Ben fans out there, please R&R (Review & Rate).


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